So, yes, we did get popsicles. And Ma did cuss out the storekeeper as being a "no good cracker", before reminding him "there's room in the bus for all of us, and I ain't gonna stop for nobody"
The storekeeper, an older East Indian man I'm sure heard only the door swinging shut behind us as I raced Ma out shaking her fist.
"We have to go to BINGO now", I said to Veruca.
Veruca was obviously irritated at this, and between trying to argue with her, and balance Ma's grooving to Rap on my back, things were becoming quickly untenable.
"And why is that?", said Veruca, her hands firmly planted on her hips. She tended to look somewhat imposing in her Ninja gear, and with the Nike swoop on her back, she made it known that she was a highly sought after endorsement deal Ninja.
"Because we need Ma to co-operate". By this point, in order to keep up with Mom's swaying on her toilet, I had to tuck my thumbs between the straps that fastened her to my back and sway in tune to some kind of Public Enemy beat. At least Ma couldn't hear what we were saying, with her hands over her Sony headphones, head bobbing in perpetual agreement, yelling, "uh huh, uh huh"
"If Ma decides to jump off my back, and make a hightail for it, she'll fall over dead within seconds of leaving the commode's powersphere, fall dead and we'll all lose our gifts"
"What do you mean, we'll all?", snapped Veruca.
Ma interrupted with a shrill "Chucky D's in the house", and then her diatribe announced the crowd of bystanders our presence had created.
"Lookit you crackas, a buch of cornfed suckas, where your daddy at? Yo daddy's a broken jimmyhat!"
Veruca never paid attention to the crowd, too intent on arguing about BINGO.
The fact is, I lied.
"Your mother doesn't want to go to BINGO. You want to go to BINGO. You're so lame, making your mother sit their on her toilet while you dab away all her money on cards"
I struggled to keep my conversation with Veruca, while watching the unruly crowd, who had suddenly found something apparently more entertaining than us. And there he was, dazzling the crowd with his western antics. Clad as a Western gunfighter, he stood, spinning his revolver and making kindly gestures to the crowd.
"Oh, how I love these street festivals", crooned a young woman, holding her ugly baby.
"marcwojo?", gasped Veruca, who for the first time I met her was motionless, transfixed.
"Giddya up, y'all", drawled the cowboy, "Hope y'all ya'all is up for downhome entertainment"
"That's not marcwojo, Veruca!" I bent forward to make up for Ma's weight, while grabbing Veruca's arm with another.
"Wally Sasparelli's gonna show you some good ole Western justice"
But it wasn't Wally Sasperelli with the lasso intent on pulling Ma off my back. It was Walter Sasparelli.
"Veruca! We have to get out of here! We can make the 42C southbound if we go now. It's due to arrive in just a few minutes!"