Harol and CoCo

The Way of the Breeze

The spray can felt odd in his hand. 

Harol Gerrard wasn’t handy, didn’t stain anything. He was already on the gear line at Chevy when the Brewster kids discovered the joys of graffiti.

The grass in the raised grassy area behind where he and CoCo played backgammon was long, and it was waving in the breeze that blew off the river.

Sometimes CoCo would blame that breeze for a bad roll of the dice.

They both knew there weren’t bad rolls, just rolls you didn’t really want.

Harol’s head was on a swivel. 

Not a cop anywhere, like it was meant to be.

His head went left, and a woman was sitting on the edge of the grassy area, holding a baby.

She began to unbutton the left shoulder of her top and Harol said “ma’am, no disrespect, can you not do that here?”

Her head jerked up and she asked, loudly, “Not breastfeed my child?”