We had no clue. Near the railyards, by the labor alley deals.
Baseball stories from the 70s, when they smacked singles to the opposite field. When curve balls bit sharp.
When we were tight. Pulled off from the main group to check a scene.
Got caught up in a whirl. Got mixed in with a wham.
Never knew what hit, but found my line and stuck it. Wore a Vantaggio glare the whole time, but they couldn't take their eyes off the band.
A color for every season, a nod to all the people on the trail. Like a concession, like an acknowledged status, just rode on through.
