Benny

Benny was always the coolest kid in school. Benny didn't care. Benny did his own thing. He wore a leather jacket and Chuck Taylors. Always had that Walkman on his hip, swinging to the sound, back and forth. Swagger; moving him forward, forward towards greatness, the next big thing, always coming his way, always coming up roses. Roses; their cheeks blushed red like new flowers, hoping he'd glance their way. Turn his head. Notice. Maybe wink. Maybe nod. Swinging those hips, like that was even ok for a boy. Didn't nobody say nothing when Benny swung his hips. If Benny swings, you swing. If Benny says swinging is ok, you say swinging is ok. Benny says it's all in the hips. The Walkman's just there for decoration. The music? You make that in your head, kid.
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