Chesticles

Murph, sitting beside his father in section three, wore a gigantic foam-rubber index-finger on his right hand. It was bright green. His father bought the silly thing for him, so what could he do? He wore it.

When section three rose to its collective feet and booed, Murph was not sure what it was all about, but he stood and booed also. At the same time he turned and looked at the girl two rows back, three seats over.

Murph had seen some mamaroons in his twelve years. Lots of them. He even had the March catalog from Victoria's Secret inside a cross-word puzzle under his bed. But the mamaroons behind him, the ones two rows back and three seats over, oh, buddy! They deserved a special trophy!

Tatas from the Tetons!

They seemed to call to him...

Where, oh where was the peanut-man? He wasn't to his left, he wasn't to his right. When Murph turned to see if he was perhaps behind him two rows back three seats over he found the girl with the monster chest-puppies staring back at him. She wasn't smiling. Neither was the big, bearded guy next to her.

Section three suddenly cheered for something and Murph stood to his feet and waved his foam-rubber finger high in the air. Before he sat back down he quite naturally glanced casually two rows back, three seats over. Damned if she wasn't still looking at him! And if that wasn't enough, the bearded man was now pointing at him!.

“Keep your eyes on the damn game!” the man bellowed.

Murph turned and sat up-right, face-forward. So did his father. As a matter of fact, most every man in section three turned at that moment and sat up-right, face-forward.


299 Words-