Of Banjos And Raccoons

Dunsmore
Los Angeles

An old man was playing banjo inside an old Mustang in the parking lot. “Is my banjo disturbing you?” “No, not at all.” “This instrument is as American as you can get.” He said. “Yeah?” “Yes it is.” “My Dad used to sit by the porch playing bluegrass music while waiting for us kids out hunting coons.” “Coons?” “Raccoons.” “You eat them?” “Some do but we’re just interested in their skin. Grandma sews them into caps and shawls and stuff like that. Hey where are you from?” “Philippines.” “Ever hunt raccoons there?” “We don’t have them, coons?” “Haha coons, yeah….”

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