I have these gloves that are the textile equivalent of juvenile delinquents.
They might also be running a fledgling anarchist ring out of my bedroom.
They enjoy attention (alternating striping between lime and pea green. C'mon!), drink too much Blue Moon (or at least aid in the attempts at such) and most importantly attempt to run away from my tough love at every junction.
First, they pulled a fast one on Lena who under the false belief of my abusive ownership, took them in. But Fingers and Thumbs O'Hooligan soon realized that the grass was not always greener on the otherside (and secretly missed KaiBot3000, alias 'Cat,' their main co-conspirator and typist). They asked to return home and I agreed. I should have set some ground rules. I think Lena taught them how to pick locks.
But teenage angst was soon to set in. Fingers O'Hooligan attempted his next great escape at the supermarket, somewhere between the spices and bread flour. Unfortunately, the O'Hooligans were of two minds - Thumbs not entirely sure he wanted to run away again. It was this NARC half of the O'Hooligan ring that led me to their delinquent otherhalf, sheepish and wilting under the yellow-green fluorescents. The two O'Hooligans have not been on the best of terms since this falling out, which like any textbook von Clausewitz, I have used to my advantage.
We had a serious discussion then.
But it didn't quite seem to sink in. Not just yet. As Fingers O'Hooligan made one last attempt for freedom - fluttering and pilled wool on the cold, litter strewn ground outside of TD Bank. I stood there - arched brow and amused - just waiting. This was the do-or-die moment, where Fingers had to agree to my indulgent despotism or forever circle the debris of Bensonhurst. An anarchist, yes. But a cold, hungry, homeless anarchist. With no access to Blue Moon (outside of the fuzzing aftereffects of tossed bottles), attention or research materials for pamphlet making.
So Fingers O'Hooligan took my hand and we went back home. Where, after all, Thumbs was waiting with the silky green number I picked up in Naples: Scarflette O'Hara. KaiBot3000 collating their latest work, Long live the revolutionary proletariat and the common glovesmith.