The Neighborhood

I was sitting on the front stoop of my house when a kid from down the street came running up, yelling excitedly at the top of his lungs. “GUYS, YOU GUYS! LOOK WHAT I FOUND! GUYS!” he yelled out as he tripped on his untied shoelaces, almost falling extremely ungracefully into my yard.

They leisurely dropped their gloves, baseball, bat, and walked nonchalantly over to him.
“Guys, check this out,” he said as we all circled around him. He opened up his palms.
“What is it?” Theodore said.
“Where’d ya find it?” Aaron asked, half-assed.
“It was in the garbage at the cranky ol’ man’s–” He was interrupted by another kid, “You went through someone’s garbage!” We all looked up, in sudden realization, and then we looked around at each other in disbelief. One of us smacked the kid and then the rest of us hit him upside the head or poked him, laughing.

Aaron walked over to middle of the yard, picked up the baseball where he’d dropped it and turned back around, his mouth open as if he’d wanted to say something but couldn’t make any words come out. We just stared, close to wondering what he was going to do. Aaron shook his head disapprovingly at the kid, who still held his palms open, and then tauntingly yelled out, “okay, who am I gonna strike out next?”

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