skit #27: sculpted heroes past

Three men occupied the bench, old men, three very old men. Slack lips, slack faces. On the fronts of their heads stretched innocent masks. Innocent like monkeys or children. Never directly asserting ownership, they sat on their bench. Best damned bench on that cement sliver of Cowler Ave if you asked Eddy.

And if you didn't ask, he'd tell you anyways. Some bout of senility or lifelong abrasiveness vested him in cobalt-and-mustard plaid, matching only his discordant harping. Eddy would go on about anything: overripe produce stalls, carbon monoxide, dihydrogen monoxide, inflation, deflation, reflation. Any transient he noticed eavesdropping would soon be railed. Luther thought of him more of a talker than a fighter. As vocally vehement as physically feeble.

Eddy began yammering. This never fazed Mortimer, but little did. Mortimer was born jaded. Age served only to erode any cynicism that may lodge in optimism's absence. This left him with nothing more than a stern face and matters of fact to state.

Luther just about never spoke.

The morning sun of ten AM fueled Eddy's reptilian manners. The wiry cannibal preyed on lonely old men without old men of their own. They walked down the sidewalk, too timid, invisible to the youth of the streets. Eddy unleashed foul salvos of insults with the same tongue and lips that spoke gently to his granddaughters and his dead wife.

It was territorial, not personal. To celebrate the defense of their bench, the three old codgers gentlemanly lit each others' cigarettes. Just like when they were sixteen. Pigeons pecked at the feet of sculpted heroes past.

Mortimer piped up, 'Three of em this time,' pointing across the street. Eddy, Mortimer, and Luther rise. 'Intimidating like lambs,' Eddy scoffed. An unintelligible yet clearly hostile exchange of remarks was garbled over the din of interceding traffic. Luther fumed.

Luther muttered his token words before the rumble, as he always did. Mortimer and Eddy knew it was time to brawl. The feud plateaued at a simmer. Luther lead the assault, chucking his chair at their smug chins. The glass shattered and their foes vanished.

The three old men abandoned their corner, for there were other cafes to commandeer.