Carlos

“We have to get our pictures taken out by the frog,” Erin squealed as we walked out of the store. Outside the indie store was a frog holding up a peace sign. It was located just right out of the shop’s front window; as we walked in we noticed it.

As I was holding a pose with the life size frog, I spied a guy leaning up against a building side not to far down from my friends and I. I smiled, said “cheese”, and then Jen was next in line. When Jen was getting herself situated a tall, gangly black man acknowledged the boy with a pound to his fist and a “What’s up”?

Once the black man passed by us I finally got a decent look at the boy near. I speculated that he was 15, my age, or a tad bit older. To me he seemed attractive in a different way. He was Latino, wore a plain white tee, baggy jeans, a ball cap covering his muffled hair, and he had a childish, innocent face that made him all the more adorable.
Right after the flash went off, and Jen stood up from her hunched over position, a man in a green football jersey, displaying the number 41, stalked up to us. The man asked “Can I get a picture with you,” but with a slurred sound, where we couldn’t make out what he said.
“What?” we all replied in unison.
“Can I get a picture with you,” he repeated, sounding the same.
“We have to go meet up with some friends, sorry,” Jen chimed in, nervousness crept into her voice.
Erin, Jen, Anna, Izzy, Kristie, and I raced off down the street, clutching to each others sides, like a child does to its mother, moving in the opposite direction of the drunk, and boy. In the middle of our mad dash, the black man called out to us saying “don’t worry, he’s only drunk.” It’s not like we didn’t already know that.
The comment shouted to us didn’t help calm are nerves. The power walking away rid us of the thoughts of the drunken man. After walking most of 9th street, we thought it would be safe enough to venture back. As we were creeping up near to the shop I noticed the boy was still there. Since I couldn’t find a worthy specimen of male at camp, I decided a local to Durham, North Carolina would do.
As we passed him on are way back to Duke Campus I strutted past the boy and managed to only get out a simple hey. He returned my hello with a “hey” right back. After passing him I turned back to catch him totally checking me out. I would have liked to actually strike up a conversation with the guy, but I was paranoid about what my friends would have thought. He was just a local after all. Since I never did even learn his name I decided to call him Carlos.





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