Why.  Why?  To log and summarize everything as I go.  That’s what these are for, right?

March 9th, 2010.  Tuesday.


My chipped red winter-beaten bicycle carried me across the cold months.  Creaking, squeaking, straining, complaining.  Across Mass Pike and the railroad onion behind the chain-link fence before the background city.  Basket full of work-stuff for my new job in Cambridge, home of the true have and have-nots.  I went over the Charles past the Harvard Colosseum where river reflections of bridge arches look like watery eyes welling up.  I rode with my acoustic on my back in the city night, by groups of students talking and smoking, to Charlie’s Kitchen to do stand-up.  Those ska mohawk punks have a misplaced ‘fuck the crowd’ mentality.  The only people listening were the ones that cared, you idiots.  The clouds always hang so perfectly out my window over Ringer Park.  I wish they could pull me out of bed.  I bought donuts and we walked in the Sunday sunshine and sat on the Mission Church steps before finally opening the heavy wooden doors and sitting silently in the back while everyone, black and white, received Communion.  The schizophrenic from Espresso Royale and the 57 bus sat and watched too.  The bright blue and warm sidewalks make it seem like the grey December drizzle never came and never wet our black cotton coats and leather gloves and never wet our damp heads; never made us depressed and wonder why we stayed in this city.

Photo courtesy of Glenn Boozan

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