It was a crisply chilly morning with throngs of all kinds of people, families, strollers, dogs, and turkey suits, all converging in downtown Dallas. The vast majority of “other” shirts were the long sleeve cotton shirts with Dallas YMCA Turkey Trot printed over the top of some ridiculous cartoon of a turkey. The Shirt was not impressed.
Somehow The Shirt managed to sneak up towards the front to try and beat the horizontal rows of gabbing walking women, the walkers with double and triple wide strollers which has one wondering how the heck they got in front of the actual runners, and the packs of out of control dogs on 8 foot leashes that trip and knock over every old lady or child within their leash radius, and the huge stinking mess that they leave behind that has people slipping, falling and retching, or has their owners stopped dead in the middle of the course trying to clean it up while hundreds of people literally run up their butts and mount them doggy style. The Shirt was glad he was not a shoe.
After a few miles, the course started to sort it’s self out. It seemed to widen and more room was available to allow others to pass, much to the dismay of The Shirt. There were live bands playing on some corners. One was an all girl band with a saxophone player. Girls playing the saxophone, hmmm, that was on The Shirt’s bucket list at one time. The thought kept him distracted for about a mile and a half.
The Shirt was extremely proud and simultaneously embarrassed. He was hugely cognizant of his visibility and the millions of people passing him on the course. All that exposure, running slowly enough to allow seemingly every other shirt in the turkey trot to see him as they passed The Shirt. The running pace of The Shirt permitted advertisement goals to be abundantly surpassed, but at the expense of pride. So many people ran by The Shirt. First there were the little girls, then their older sisters, then their moms, and finally their grandmothers. Even an old lady with an aluminum walker managed to bump The Shirt out of the way. The Shirt did pass one other shirt, but he had a cast on his leg. And maybe another, but he could have been a street person urinating on a sign post. He saw a sign that said “Go Tess!” which made him wonder who Tess was and if she had been by yet. Probably not, because why would they wave the sign if she had already come by. It also made the shirt wonder if there was going to be a “Go you Dallas Rat Bastard Shirt!” sign too. Probably not.
The shirt eventually did finish the run and staggered down the hill to see the other Dallas Rat Bastard shirts. Alas, there were none. Kill was there, as well as a few of the local runners and bikers that cruise White Rock Lake and stop by after Sunday Touch for a refreshment. Kill may have been wearing his shirt but it was hidden under a much nicer sweater. The Shirt could not be angry.
As Kill and The Shirt solved world problems over a few refreshments, one of the course directors brought over a drone and buzzed the graveyard and the living dead congregating. It was pretty slick, taking videos from above and coming down to head level, for close up face shots, interviews and haircuts.
As happens with all good things, the cops busted it up. A heavy, uniformed DPD lady with a bad wig came over and told us to disperse, they had to clear out the place. It made no sense to all present, because the Turkey Trot graveyard congregation had been a tradition for over 25 years. Kill, in his usual stance of civil disobedience and peaceful resistance, questioned the cop to determine under whose direction came the order. It turned out it was the trash clean up guy who told his crew to “clean up that area”. Too late, buzz kill. People had split. Off to eat turkey, take naps and watch football.