“Ahhhh!” one of the young men screamed.
Grant turned. A young man laid on the ground grasping the back of his knee wrenching and grimacing in pain.
Behind him was a short man in a city maintenance uniform. He held a club in his hand. “Only three left, whose next.”
They ran and the injured man hobbled away as fast as he could.
“That was a close one,” the man said.
“It sure was,” Grant said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“That’s okay,” the man said, “I just come here once a week to empty the trash… in more ways than one.”
“Don’t I know you?” Grant said.
“I don’t think we ran around in the same social circles,” the man said looking at Grant’s expensive suit.
“Sure,” Grant said. “I know you, JC Sizemore, running back at my old high school. You were two years ahead of me.”
“Well, it’s always good to meet an old alumni,” JC said, “no matter what the circumstances.”
“Sure,” Grant said. “you were the big man on campus.”
JC chuckled. “I guess I was so busy being the big man that I’m afraid I don’t remember you.”
“There were 2,000 kids at that school,” Grant said, “everyone’s a face in the crowd.”
“If you like, I can walk with you out of the park,” JC said.
“That’s okay,” Grant said, “you’ve done enough.”
“I’d sure like to reminisce further, but I got a schedule,” JC said.
“I understand,” Grant said. “I’m sure glad to have seen you again and once again thanks.”
JC smiled and nodded.
Grant walked away.