Bryan was on his own on the Road of Shame. He’d been abandoned by his jail house friend who was released at the same time. Bryan figured he was a couple of miles away from the railroad tracks, which demarcated the Southside. He calculated he’d be on the other side of that line and in safe territory in an hour if he kept a brisk pace, but that would draw attention. He could be out in two hours if he walked at a more subdued pace that would allow him to blend in with the background.
The nice leather shoes, finely knit black woolen pants and a silk shirt he was wearing made him feel he stood out. Bryan took to heart that his brief traveling companion noted his shoes enough that he called them dancing shoes. He feared that if that urchin could see he was out of place, then so could everybody else.
Bryan trudged down the street trying not to look lost or scared. He also watched out for dogs and people. Eventually he came to a big empty lot and spotted a loose medium-sized dog being followed by small Chihuahua mix. They seemed to be coming toward him. Fearing this meant trouble, he crossed the street and walked close to the houses facing the empty lot. The two-dog crew noticed the change in pattern and started barking. Dogs throughout the neighborhood to join in.
Bryan began to sweat with worry. Then suddenly a big dog rushed out from an open gate and charged him. This was more than Bryan could bear. He jumped into the middle of the street and wet his pants, the big dog nipping at him. The other two dogs who started the ruckus joined in.
“Lord, please,” he yelled almost in tears.
“Hey, Lobo, quit it!” a man yelled.
The dog quickly retreated.
Bryan looked at the man and thought he recognized him. He once worked for him as a janitor for business.
The man seemed to recognize Bryan, too. Meanwhile, the other two dogs stepped back and stopped barking.
Bryan took advantage of the opening and kept walking. He looked back sheepishly but didn’t saying anything to the man who’d called off the dogs.
The man unceremoniously walked back into his home. Inside, his wife asked who the red-head man in nice clothes walking down the street was.
“Oh, just a vato from the eastside walking home from jail. I once knew him. He wouldn’t talk to me then,” the man said.
“He talk to you now?” his wife asked
“Chale. But what a manchada he did today,” the man said.