I’d just sat down at a corner table to wait my turn.
The lady in front of the counter handed over their divorce documents. She wore her turquoise suede cowboy skirt with fringe, her genuine tooled caramel leather cowboy boots with silver detailing, her white cowgirl shirt with pearl buttons. She was in her 50s, with spiky short brown hair and golden highlights that probably cost her $150 at the local salon.
Next to her stood her bridegroom, late 50s, black slacks, white cowboy shirt with pearl buttons, black and shiny cowboy boots. No manure pile kicking was ever done in those boots.
At a guess, some boot scootin’ boogie had been going on, maybe at the local country and western club or square dancing at the community senior center.
She grinned happily at him. I couldn’t see his face. I hope he was lapping up her expression.
I’m thinking, “No wait! You’ve been divorced for 15 years! Why are you doing this?”
But it was none of my business though I could try mind-melding in Dr. Spock style, but my melder was offline. They signed, paid their fees, and got ready for marital bliss — again. I wish them well.
The other clerk called me up, so I stood with my tax license forms, then saw a fat pigeon sitting on the windowsill cocking its head right and left, strutting a bit for a better view.
The first clerk stuffed an errant curl back behind her ear, then smacked her gum so loud the pigeon lifted right up in a swirl before swooping back down to its perch.
That’s when I realized this is the messenger pigeon that watches everything going on the courthouse. They probably have teams rotating to report to the flock. Somewhere one of them is winging words through the ozone to the other pigeons.
Today’s message is: Humans are weird. They marry for life, divorce, then marry for life again.
Think of the tales told by these stool pigeons, keeping an eye on the human flock in the courthouse. One or two sit in judgement on the window ledge in the courtroom. Another watches prisoners upstairs tell their stories. One listens to those buying and selling properties.
So now I have it: “Shake a Tale Feather: By Stool Pigeons at the Courthouse.” This could be fun. One more book to write. Just a little satire on life.
Categories: J.H. Muses