Pool_1

Everybody? No. Mostly everybody? No. A wholesome bunch? Probably not. But then again, Leonardo wasn't giving out freebies in the projects. It felt weird. "Here come the kids," Benson pointed out the children lining up near the empty lot with piles of stones being hurriedly created. You see balls of iron stacked like that adjacent revolutionary war cannonade with small descriptive plaques adjacent, "From this point, the British troops shot their balls off." Or something like that. There were news photographers from the two Hayn publications and one from the Black Vigil, the only really independent newspaper in the area. The photographers were helping the kids get their rock piles established as well as taking practice angle shots and light meter readings. On the four street corners were the early bird spectators. Late comers had to take poorer positions. At exactly thirty past noon, the red car with Martha Shonen, an elder black lady, from Augusta - with Georgia plates, rode into the intersection and stopped diagonally there. "My car seems to have run out of gas," as the crowd mouthed her words slightly ahead of her. "Come on. Move that vehicle, you can't block a public intersection," the officer on the scene - why was he there? - spoke as the assemblage continued to mouth his words ahead of him. "Would you help me? I'm stuck?" she asked in chorus with the crowd pantomime. "I'll call a tow truck," was uttered to the sudden ranting chanting of the crowd, "NO TOW. NO TOW. NO TOW," as Mrs. Shonen proclaimed, "You ain't towing MY car! You ain't stealing my car!" Marcus was blitzed by this. "This is frigging Greek theater!"