Nice truck. Sometimes that’s all you need out of a walk.
In the expansive basement of my downtown Brooktown building the manager plays miniature golf with residents, usually while sipping on beer. They laugh a lot and take it ridiculously serious. A seriousness they all know is more than the event warrants. It’s a pleasure to watch such misplaced seriousness, such attention to formalities of their own invention. The “hole” is a plastic cup turned over on its end. There are patches of carpet slow zones, allowing an opportunity to halt the ball. There’s some trap circles of fringe, clogging up the fairway. The manager/elevator operator says he rarely loses and it’s appropriate hearing this know that he’s named “wolf”. I ask one day if that’s his real name and he says yes, but it’s short for Wolfredo. I have the urge to say Dave is short for Davesito, but it’s not a strong urge. I like wolf. And I bet he does win a lot. He’s not the type, but a victory howl is something I’d want from him.
I choose a long route home down Broadway through Washington Square Park which eventually takes me by a macabre scene of a black-suited man lying dead at a busy intersection which I soon learn from the UPS guy, who walked right by the nattily dressed cadaver, that no, he’s not dead…or if he is, he drank a lot before he died because man, you get near him and you better not light a match. The ambulance and fire truck people pull up and likely rolled their eyes when they go to examine him. I push along. Suddenly I’m upon “The Cage”, the legendary W.4th street basketball mad max thunderdome full court. I’m staring at these hulkoid bodies tossing words and the rock around in this impossibly small asphalt court. It’s like the size of courts you see in movies, truncated so more action can be filmed….quicker transitions. If you’ve played the game, you notice the odd dimensions immediately in movies. So, I’m watching this fast break-less game through 30 ft high chain links when it occurs to me that one guy has to be Ron Artest. I’m not really a huge basketball watcher but I’m a face reader/recorder. And since this guy recently was traded to Sac I must’ve seen Ron on TV while staying there for 2 months. Ron stares at me staring at him. I move around for better views and soon I’m standing next to some congenial fellows who are commenting on the game and I ask: “is that…R__…” I get to “Ron” and they’re nodding. “ya know, I haven’t been here long, but the 2 minutes I saw demonstrated, skill-wise, that this had to be him…” Artestimonial. Artestify. Artest doesn’t give partial credit. I notice his shoes sported a blue/yellow color scheme. Dug his old Pacer shoes out to match his canary W.4th jersey. Because pros have panache, along with game.