Yesterday afternoon I made me seasonal scout. When the weather changes behaviors change. As I am on foot in this habitat, whenever the change of seasons come I devote an evening to just poking around, acquainting myself with new characters and indications of possible new patterns, reacquainting myself with the perennial crimescape.

A teenager in winter attire, boots, slacks, hoody, and fitted had, with underwear matching his brown slacks and his left hand down his pants holding his identity, passed me on the sidewalk. A petite couple in their mid twenties, he with a full beard and a tri-colored tattooed neck and guitar, and her with multiple facial piercings, were scrounging used cigarettes from the gutter. I crossed the street and passed a crowd of younger teenagers horse playing and hanging out. A hunched crack whore ducked through the shrubbery and went on her way from the direction of the crack house up the side street to my right.

Across the street to my left at the service station five boys about 16 hung out in their summer attire: sneakers, cargo shorts, double T-shirts and fitted hats. The smallest boy kept an eye on me and did not let e out of his sight. Last year these boys waited on this side of the street and followed middle aged men into the neighborhoods and bum rushed them while car mounted adults staked out the service station. The car mounted muggers have been absent for a year now and these guys have scaled back the violence and seemed to be concentrating on the drug trade and young ladies, one of whom they are admiring as I pass.

A handicapped boy is panhandling on the corner under the protection of the White Vice Lords, one of whom is patrolling the area, looking like Eminem on steroids with his fitted hat and windbreaker. I run into Hawk at the grocer and he asks me to stop into the bar later so he can buy me a drink and we can talk boxing.

I Head back through the alley and back lots and spot two younger boys, one 8 one 13, waiting for somebody. As I walk the side street behind the service station a big bearded skin head pulls out of a driveway in a pickup truck and does not bother threatening me. I must truly be getting old.

I bussed it out to the county to shop for my grandson’s birthday party. The bus traffic is light and I am alone on a bus stop when a really cute blonde cop in her late 20s questions me about a gold van that was seen abducting a little girl in Essex.

Coming back into town just after darkness falls I run into Mrs. Morrison at the bar. She said she had a story for me so I decided to get us a cheese pizza down on the corner.

Upon my return the three women in the front of the bar started chanting “FAK, FAK, FAK!” as they pointed at me and laughed.

In answer to my questioning look the chick from New York said, ‘How are you going to eat that pizza without your fork and knife mister high class writer? We’re not going to call you Secret Window anymore. You’re ForkAndKnife now—FAK, FAK.”

I mustered what dignity I might. “I was not going to suffer your ridicule again for eating like a civilized person, so have brought no flatware to your den of squalor.”

Her partner in character assassination chimed in, “Are you sure you’re going to be able to handle that pizza without a knife and fork hon?”

“Oh, I have seen you barbarians conducting your uncouth feast often. I shall simply ape you.”

“Oooooo!” they heckled and left me to my interview.

Mrs. Morrison begins telling me about her adventure at the news stand.

“I walked by this thirty year old black guy and he says, ‘Hi.’

“I say, ‘Hi’ and keep on walking.

He gets in front of me and says, “Do you want a boy friend?”

“I said, ‘No!’ and keep walking.

“He follows me inside and says, ‘Do you have a boy friend?’

“I said, ‘No, I have a husband!’

“He said, ‘I live right around the corner. After working all day don’t you want to put your feet up?’

“I said, ‘No! I’m fifty-five years old.’

“He won’t let up and says, ‘Do you have a daughter?’ How do you even answer that? What a loser. So I just ignore him.

“He goes on, ‘Oh I heard you work up at the bar, en you like us black guys, give us a break on our drinks.’

[Points at buxom bar maid and then motions to her own slight form] “I don’t have a set of giant boobs! Get lost pal! Scram, later!” and the entire time his hand is in his pants playing with his thing. I get customers at the dealership, men, grown men in their forties and fifties, hands in their pants playing with their thing. What is up with these black men? Could you tell me? Do you know why they are constantly playing with themselves in public?”

“They are holding on to their identity, their social worth, what there is of it. The women just use them as breeding drones to get welfare. They live off the food and money intended for the children. We see it in supermarkets all the time.”

The black off duty police detective sitting on my other side chimes in. “You know that’s right. I know a woman who is making forty-eight-thousand dollars a year on getting knocked up. She has a boyfriend who is not father to any of those three men that knocked her up. She has a child by a fireman, a child by a UPS man, and a child by a police! Forty-eight grand a year to spreads your legs and drop an egg!

“And now, and now I got to deal with those muthafucas that these bitches be hatchin’. I’m sittin’ across from this muthafuca at my desk today en he eyeballing me—eye-fucking me!”

Hawk has taken a seat at the bar and has sent me over a hard cider and fireball cocktail.

The irate detective continues, “Don’t you know I almost went over the desk after him. He is sitting there telling me, ‘Its commin’,’ and making like this [shows gangbanger pistol grip]. I told my supervisor, ‘This piece of shit is not even an adult and he is threatening my life, telling me he knows who I am and its coming!”

Mrs. Morrison, her story over, was socializing with her lady friends. The detective was now arguing with someone on the phone, and Hawk was itching to talk about the latest Floyd Money fight.

Violence against middle-aged male pedestrians in Hamilton is at about half the level it was last year and into the early summer. There is no greater police presence. In fact, other than drug busts and domestics there is little police action apparent around here.

I do not know what the reason is, but am happy to have been taken off of the top slot on the menu.