Brothers in Arms

Harry sat alone on the park-bench, the spring sun on his face.

Suddenly the happy sound of a wagging-tailed dog was beside him and then the inevitable cold nose skimming the back of his right hand. He waved his hand briskly and with disgust: “Buster!” he said to his brother.

Harry listened to the silence that followed. He now smelled coffee.

"Bring me some?" he asked.

"Nope."

“Oh,” he said... “You're still mad.”

The brothers sat side by side for a long while listening to the children on the playground across the grass.

“Calling you an 'ugly, old fool', is like calling myself an ugly, old fool! Don't you see that, you moron?” Harry asked. “We're identical twins, remember?”

Buster Pete remained silent.

Something hit Harry on the side of his leg. Crab-apple, he thought.

“Kids are throwing at us again,” he said with great boredom in his voice.

“What d'ya mean, 'us'?” Buster Pete asked.

“You think they're aiming at me?”

“You hate dogs and people and you're rude to both. 'Course they're aiming at you!”

“Oh,” said Harry. “So, Mr. I love everybody How do they know I'm not you?”

"I wear a hat," said Buster.

"You don't!"

"I do."

Buster heard something bounce off what probably was his brother's forehead.

“That sounded like it hurt,” he said.

“It did,” Harry said. Both men smiled faintly beneath their black sun-glasses.

Another crab-apple bounced off Harry.

“Destined for the Dodgers,” Buster said. “These kids got arms!”

“Let's go,” Harry said.

“It's time,” agreed Buster Pete.

Then the two old men rose and began their well rehearsed rebel yell and together with the guide-dog charged across the field, white and red-stripe canes held high, the dog barking, the children squealing as they ran ever which way.

300 words--