The two figures are furiously punching at each other. Beards long, strange clothes torn. One with a full head of hair, the other bald. But none of them look tired or injured. If you look closely maybe you’ll notice a bit of blood when one of them gets punched, but when he turns back his head, it’s not there.

Trick of the eye probably?

Anyway they’ve been affectionately known as the ‘Fighting Hobos of Central Park’ for the longest time. They’re there all the time, duking it out.

They’re not always in the same part of the park, but they never seem to be anywhere but between Umpire Rock and Hernshead.

Some people have tried watching them for a whole day, but get tired after a few hours.

Others have tried approaching them but always change their mind when they get close. Even the police! That’s why they’ve never been stopped.

Then if you ask your parents, they’ll say ‘What? They’re still there? It can’t be the same two people, they were there when I was a kid!”

And if you ask your grandparents, they’ll say “Oh yes I’ve seen them before, must be some copycats trying to re-enact the ‘Central Park Fisticuffers’ from back when my grandad, your great great grandpa, used bring your great great grandma there for dates.”

And everybody seems to know somebody who has heard of them before. But nobody seems to be bothered that they’re there all the time just punching away. Occasionally a drop kick or two. Maybe a headlock.

——-

4:51 PM August 3 2022

“Hey Misters”.

The two men stopped mid punch, not having been spoken to in centuries.

A little girl was holding out a bottle of soda.

“Don’t you get tired playfighting all the time? Do you need a drink”

Both of the scruffy looking men looked at her.

The bald man asked the other one “How is she talking to us, the warding spell lasts for four hundred…”

Whitebeard lightly slapped him across the head.

“You fool! Look up there behind you!”

The bald one looked warily at him, as if it were a trick leading to be sucker punched, when he saw the strange, tall buildings beyond the trees, behind the other guy.

“Look behind me? Look behind YOU! What are those???”

Whitebeard cursed “Damn it! There’s nothing wrong with the Warding spell! It HAS been four hundred years! If only you had the brains to admit that rock was part of the agreement…”

Sweat rolling of his head the bald one went “NO!” I told you to keep yourself at that end! I built my house there at least three hundred years before you even ‘bought’ this ‘piece of land’ from who knows who? Look what you’ve done! An entire City has sprung up around us! Where’s your ‘territory’ now eh? And my house…”

He turned to look behind him, where Umpire rock was.

“my house is gone!!! My stuff! Oh brgggrrrhhlfmmmh I’m gonna get you for this!”

“Hey misters” said the little girl “Why don’t you take a break and …”

“Shut up!” Said the two men in unison.

The bald one took out a parchment from a still intact pocket (how?) and started reading from it.

There was a brief pulse of energy in the air that expanded, just enough to cover the area between Umpire Rock and Hernshead area.

The little girl’s eyes glazed over, and she shrugged and walked away, the two men having resumed decking each other in their faces.