Jogging on the levee yesterday I spotted a stocky Hispanic dude walking with a cane. What caught my attention was that he was moving a little to well to have actually needed it. There was none of the shuffle that most of the people I have observed walking with canes.
As I got closer it was easy to assume the guy was one of the many "retired" gang members in Stockton. They are a common fixture on the pedestrian/bike path that runs along the top of the levee. He had similar traits to the other ones I have jogged by: tats running up the arms and around the neck and a swagger combined with a tension in the shoulders. Even though he was simply taking a walk on a beautiful day he still looked ready to spring into action.
As I approached him I noticed his cane was a nine iron. His right hand grasped the big silver head of the club. Casually swinging the grip into his left hand it became apparent that he did not regard this as a walking stick. It was the perfectly legal and reasonable defensive weapon to carry it you were trying to keep younger trouble at bay.
"Good day to play golf," I said jogging by. The closest golf course was five miles away.
His posture relaxed as a smile lit his face up. "Yeah, it is a good day," he said quietly.
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