The Skid-Mark Kid

When nobody would sit at my table at lunchtime--I got it.

I could perceive instantly that it was getting late before anyone had to say, “Oh, gosh, Skid-Mark, sorry! Gotta run...”

I could read vibes like e-mail messages.

For kicks, just to prove a point to myself, I’d try to join dodge-ball games and find there was one too many players... “Sorry, Skid-Mark… (you’re the one too many).”

I knew all about not understanding private jokes and I could understand perfectly how it would take far too long to explain.

It always made sense when both the time and location of private parties skipped everybody’s mind. But we’ll call you--you betcha--we surely will!

I began getting into fights I was pre-ordained to lose. When I got out of high-school I was missing teeth and had a decidedly bent nose. There came a time when taking showers began to seem a bit unnecessary, as did changing clothes.

And then one day I went to Reno. Sat down by pure chance in a Texas-Hold-‘Em Card Room.

“So,” I said, “how does this thing work?” The entire table huffed and puffed and rolled their eyes, and I truly could not have cared less. The dealer explained the rules, and we played. I won. And won. And won and won.

Because I could feel the vibes!

People try to con you in card-games and, the way things sometimes work out, I'm a hard person to con. A smile’s a smile until it’s not; the simple bobbing of an Adam’s-Apple can update me like headlines in the New York Times.

I’m known these days as, “The Skid-Mark Kid”. There's a certain respect. Strangers come up and say, “Ain't you The Skid-Mark Kid?”

I just tip my Stetson.

-300 Words-