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"Chocolate Kid"

June 9, 2017

     “I’ve had my Swiss Army knife for a year now.  Dad gave it to me for my birthday last year.”  Kannapolis shoved one hand to, Goon.  “See.”

 

     “Oh.  It’s a beauty,” Beaureguard drawled.  His eyes scanned the hard body of the glitzy knife.  “A real peach.”

 

     “Thanks,” said Kannapolis. 

 

     Tiny hands turned the knife for Guy and Beauregard to see. 

 

     “It has a can opener, Mr. Wallace, and a wire stripper, screw driver, bottle opener, and tweezers.  Would you believe it even has a nail file along with three different blades?”

 

     “Yes, I see.  I always did like the Swiss knives.”  Beauregard grinned. 

 

     He sat close by.  Fallen, likely shattered by a storm, Beauregard, Guy, and Kannapolis each, stroked knives through soft pine of a ripped limb.

 

     “Swiss knives are handy tools to have,” Beauregard continued.  “I understand men of the Swiss Army force carry them.”

 

     “Yes, sir,” said Kannapolis.  “Did you know, dad said some of the new ones, the fancy ones, they have a digital clock, an altimeter, and a USB flash drive—those features along with a laser pointer, and even an MP3 player.  Can you believe it?”

 

     “Phew-oo.”  Guy whistled like a loon and he turned his knife through wood.  “Now, that’s something.”

 

     “Yep.  Dad has a Gerber knife at the house,” Kannapolis talked fast.  Eyes roamed the woods and returned to Beauregard and Guy.  “It has a double-edge blade.  It’s a boot-knife like Lara Croft wore in Tomb Raiders.  It’s neat.”

 

    “You bet it is.  I’ve one of those too,” Guy blabbed.  “Gerber and Swiss are good knives.  Then, Tomb Raiders, I once…”

 

     “Oh, I thought Lara Croft was super in Tomb Raiders,” Kannapolis interrupted like a freight train that couldn’t stop.  “She’s good like Indiana Jones was excellent in Raiders of the Lost Ark, Temple of Doom, and the Last Crusade.  Those are some of my favorites.”

 

     Beauregard chuckled.  “They’re favorites of mine, too.”  He shoved the sharp blade of his knife along velvet-green layers of inner bark.

 

      Guy snickered.  He shook his head as Kannapolis whittled.  “Good ones they are, K.D.  And you sure seem to like knives, westerns, and adventure movies.”

 

     “I do, Snitch.  Now, I think I’ll make a whistle.  I’d like a good whistle—like Benny Bardsworth can make.  I told you he’s good.”

 

     “Yep.  You did.”  Beauregard drawled and eyes lifted.  He looked to clouds, raised his knife up, and turned the steel blade.  “Whittlin’.  Yes, it’s a good hobby; and knives are good tools.”

 

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