Noon

The four of them sat on the grass by the sidewalk, shaded by decorative trees, eating out of small lunch coolers. Their gardening and landscaping tools lay about. It was a hot day, a nice day as the end of summer always brings, and they chatted idly of cars and families and an upcoming quinceañera.

Two old white guys came jogging past and talking. When they were gone, the one who knew English said, “That tall one said we were doing drugs and were in the way.”

“Pendejo!” another shouted after them.

* * *

We talked of Burning Man as we ran. My friend was fascinated but couldn’t decide if he should ever go. He was especially concerned about the tension between his marriage and being cornered by some hot young thing.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Nothing will happen. Married guys go all the time and nothing ever happens except they have a great time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and I mean, it’s the young ones that fuck around and they’re way too much trouble, they bring way too much drama. Better to ignore ‘em.”

“Drama like what?”

“I dunno, they’re young, they’re always just doing drugs and getting in the way. Besides, us old farts are invisible to them.”

“Oh. Say, what did that guy back there just call you?”