Uncivilized children run free and rampant in these parts. Shirtless, shoeless, and lawless, they travel in tribes and frequently carry large sticks and other killing paraphernalia. We are two of the adults among them. Josh and I watch them like movies from our balcony, as many of the adults do. Most dare not interfere with their savagery. There are too many rocks below which could be thrown in our windows should we rise against the children.
Still, there is the occasional movie which might provoke a response from the crowd. Even less of them will provoke verbal responses. A mere few move the audience to participate. I am sometimes moved to that extent.

We spotted Jonathan, the curiously-tanned four-year-old who flips us the bird when nobody else is looking. He is on our scowl list already. Jonathan was walking up the sidewalk with two slightly older boys, one very black and one very white. I never caught their names, because those just aren't the things you'd ask children if you ever decided to talk to them here. We only learned Jonathan's name because kids were often yelling for and at him. He was a trouble-maker, with a record.
The other two were familiar looking, but it was anyone's guess as to who they belonged to or if they even lived in Tudor Heights. The white boy, who might have been just a year older than Jonathan, was scrawny but had a head like a basketball topped with a platinum blond fuzz. We refer to him as Blondie. Blondie is slight and sheepish, the type to only hurt a fly if someone forces him to prove he's not a girl.
The black boy, maybe a couple years older than the other two just judging by size, barked like a dog who won't bite. He seemed to be all talk, maybe a little strut, but mostly he could not be noted by anything other than his chronic chatter. We refer to him as Killer, only because I once watched him stomp something invisible into the ground as if he premeditated its murder.
Killer, who carried a long and twisted stick, talked while he walked with the other two trailing and listening fiendishly. Something was brewing, possibly the kind of something that would cause one to tap their fingers together and scheme. As they moved closer to our balcony we came within earshot of their conspiring.

''�They bully us, so we bully them!'� Killer declared, raising his voice. 'They think they're tough. We'll bully them! See how they like it! Bullies!'�
'Yeah!'� Jonathan shouted behind him, pausing for a moment to make an obscene gesture toward where the bullies must have been.

The three of them, now directly in front of our balcony, went on without even looking at us. Jonathan was twirling something which looked like a keychain in his hands as if it were a deadly weapon. Blondie was standing behind the long stick, looking apprehensive. Killer kept talking.

'I know where they live too! Look'it, see that balcony in the middle over there?'� Killer pointed to the building across the courtyard from ours and the other two gawked at it stupidly. 'That's where those bullies live.'�

Those bullies must have been Old Kid and Stick Legs, we had observed them being bullies before and we knew where they lived as well. Stick Legs was the younger, smaller, louder and lighter-skinned black kid of the two. He was so named because when summer rolled around, and we finally saw the kid in shorts, we were floored by the skin-and-bones of his calves. They were devoid of any meat, but were the only part of his body so remarkably deformed.
His brother, or so we gathered though they look nothing alike, we simply referred to as Old Kid because Josh thought he looked to be in his twenties. He did not appear to be the smarter of the two bullies, but he did seem to do less trash-talking than his foul-mouthed cohort.

'What bullies?'� I asked the three boys, curious to note their reaction.
'Oh, just some bullies.'� Killer said, looking to the other two who seemed to be dumbstruck with open-mouth syndrome. 'I don't know their names. They're bigger than us though. One is twelve and one is fifteen.'�
'Oh.'� I tried to stifle a laugh. 'Good thing you've got that stick for protection.'�
'Yeah.'� Killer said. 'And he's got a ninja turtle thing!'�

He motioned to Jonathan, and Jonathan jumped into a fighting stance and began swinging whatever it was in his hands again.

'Wow. Yeah. That'll be good.'� I lied. 'You should probably go fight them.'�
'Yeah, we're gonna!'� Jonathan squeaked, still swinging his make-believe nun-chucks.

The kids made off with renewed, and wholly misguided, confidence toward the bullies. Josh looked over at me with raised eyebrows and a snicker of amusement.

'You just sent those kids to their death.'�
'I know.'� I said, quite pleased with the thought. 'We should go in. They won't fight if anyone's watching.'�

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