Los Bandidos Pequenos

We went to a White Sox game Saturday. A friend of mine bought 4 tickets fundraising for his little league but couldn’t use them. So we ended up sitting with a bunch of children. Yippee! R discovered one of them was using my name when, while I was gone, he thought a parent was reprimanding him telling him to sit still next to me.
The home team lost but I was waiting for something else anyway. I had heard that Saturday nights they do an amazing fireworks display. Yes indeed they do. Even though we lost, to my delight, they still shot off the fireworks. Set to truncated versions of popular songs, it’s like the fourth of July.

Happily we walked back to the crowded, very crowded, L. R was pressed between me and some dirty little punks. It was as if they couldn’t decide if they were punks (green hair and all) or hippies. Unwashed hair and layers of sweat and dying skin pressed R near and nearer to me. That didn’t really help since the heat of the crowd encouraged the rank smells to rise and fall like a rollercoaster. I was nearer the psycho girl who had apparently ingratiated herself on some guy. Well I actually doubt that he cared, as she was pretty enough to approach strangers, until she revealed herself as crazy. I put together, as I bumped and jostled with the rest of the noise and smell, that her ex was on the train and she had been on one end or the other of a restraining order. He spoke in calming tones as she vented confiding that she wouldn’t be happy till she was dancing on his grave, and he better get off the train if he knew what was good for him. Shortly thereafter a guy got off the train, but as he did he made a point of saying, over my head to someone in her general direction, he was getting off at Grand. Grand was his stop. The next stop the chivalrous man left and crazy girl thanked him for standing with her. He did not look back.

We walked the rest of the way home talking about the crazy girl and the gym we were considering, thinking about joining. We took the short cut past the scrap yard.
R: See it’s not to busy to ride a bike.
Me: But I wouldn’t feel safe after dark.
R: It’s not that deserted. There was a cop.
Me: Yeah I saw the empty cop car
R: That passed us?
Me: Yes. That we passed, it was empty.
R: It better not be empty. Maybe they were just very short
Me: *looking at over turned garbage* Damn those raccoons.
R: hee hee hee. Raccoons stole a cop car.
Me: *guffaw* The Little Bandits
R: hee hee hee. Los Bandidos.
Me: *finally realizing we were talking about different cars as another one drives by* Look out! Los Flaca Bandidos


I spent the rest of the walk home making up stories about the Los Flaca Bandidos gang and how they’d run rampant stealing cop cars, houses, everything.
It wasn’t till the next day I realized I’d been ranting about the skinny bandit gang of raccoons terrorizing the land.

Well, not once had I mentioned them taking food. So I claim was just being unique in my gang naming.