Underpass

I changed my jogging route and that's when I came across the trolls. They were playing cards in the darkness of the underpass. I suppose I startled them. Not many pedestrians or joggers came by. I'm guessing the authorities don't even know about them. I stopped because I'm a curious sort. There were eight of them. Since they were trolls they didn't take up much space. Squatting was second nature. Traffic sounds from the world above made this enclave seem even farther away from my  existence.
The cards they were using were unfamiliar to me, as was the game. I was very polite in requesting permission to watch. I told them I was a guidance counselor at the local high school, which let out for the summer a week earlier. Everyone was preparing for the Fourth of July. The trolls grunted their permission. Didn't say much throughout the game. Eight seemed like a lot for a card game. They used cinnamon sticks as money.
Only once was there an argument. Actually it was three of them grunting louder and gesticulating with their tiny arms and fingers. I got so wrapped up in the competition it never occurred to me that I was the outsider.
This went on for several days, me ending my jog at the underpass. They spent most of their day playing cards and sleeping. Occasionally, one of them climbed up the wall and frightened drivers. Trolls have responsibilities too. One day I hope they let me play. I can pick up lots of cinnamon sticks at the market. And I think I'm beginning to grasp this game. I was a pretty fair polka player in my day. I'm confident I can hold my own here.
My wife complains I have a funny smell when I return from my jog. I tell her its good old sweat. I don't smell anything different. Who am I to question troll hygiene?