Roasters and Stoners — Tales from the Riverbank
Summer sunshine draws the Roasters to the lush riverbank grass. Walnut-coloured skin turns deeper shades every moment as radiating rays cook leathery flesh. Turn and baste. Turn and baste.
One draws forth another, and another, and soon there is a scattering of walnuts nestling, turning, basting, and roasting where at night water rats roam. Geese look on, hoping that the Roasters may share a wilting sandwich or crisp crumb or two. Swans poke their pristine white necks up over the bank, hoping the same. Gulls swoop above, hoping the same.
The Roasters occasionally roll closer to one another, perhaps to share roasting tips or get a better look to see who has the deepest tan, the better spot, or the sexiest bod.
One day, in a clinic not far from here, at least one or two of the Roasters may meet to compare skin lesions. “How much time do you spend in the sun?” The physician will ask, knowing full well.
As the sun dips closer to the buildings, a few of the Roasters will disappear. It’s then that the Stoners arrive. They cluster together in triangular groups, puffing sickly sweet-smelling plant-based wisps into the air. Murmuring together, who knows what? Scrolling on their smartphones. A loose dog runs around them, sniffing where the water rats have been, unsettling the geese, wary of the swans.
Eventually, darkness falls. A few of the Stoners remain deep into the night, supping from cans of lager or colourful cocktail cans. Murmuring and giggling.
Tomorrow, when the sun rises, burning brightness from the deepness of the blue, the Roasters will appear again, and later the Stoners.
This is the way of the summer along the Riverbank.
