a walk in the park

Strolling through Stephens Green.
The park is full of wildish teens, drinking and drugging in various states of deshabille.
The mighty Heelers is wearing sun glasses.
He's moving quickly because he's afraid.
"Hey you," calls a girl from a bench.
She looks about fifteen years of age and a bit rough at the edges.
I quicken my pace.
"Hey you!" she calls again.
And then more mollifyingly: "Have you got a cigarette."
I shake my head expressively.
I've now drawn level with the bench.
"Sit down for a minute," quoth she.
I shrug with strange high expressive ruefulness. I'm trying not to upset her because I'm afraid she might hit me. I hurry on.
"Why not?" she calls after me. "You look just like my friend Gordon."
Is Gordon 45 years old, fat as a fool and red as a beetroot, I wonder momentarily intrigued by the coincidence.
And then another thought hits me.
"Heelers you old dog," I murmur aloud, "you've still got it."