I began to feel the cracks in five days. The noise, mainly. The density of people, sure, that too. Proximity is a thing. I’m used to walking outside on my patio in the hills and thinking I might need to mind the random bear or mountain lion. The only bears in New York are “Kennedy bears,“ dumped in Central Park as part of an independent brain-worm study conducted on a lone individual considered by many to be the most unqualified appointee in history. I fear no dead bear.
I found George. I shuffled my way past the screaming humans bent on taking a hit off the celebrity pipe. I lived in Los Angeles for many years, so the celeb sighting is old hat for me, but I never get tired of watching starstruck people jostle each other for position. I took an elbow in the ribs from a middle-aged woman who moved like David Carradine in Kung-Fu. She swirled by in a blur while knifing an elbow into my flank. Before I could counter with my cougar-style throat rip, she was gone, far ahead, phone out, nabbing an unsuspecting Clooney and his shoe polish black mane.
Have you heard of something called a “train?” It’s this giant, human-filled metal thing that rides on more metal and goes from one place to another. They are quiet, mostly, and a far more pleasant experience than flying in a jet airplane, and they are all over the place in this part of the country. I took one from New York City to Boston. I talk to myself when I’m in Boston. Always dialogue from “The Town.” “Taking down the cathedral of Boston…..priceless,” in my best Pete Postlethwaite.
Four hours between these two great cities, yet they could not be more different. I like them both. Quite a lot. I could see spending part of each year in this region. Most likely in my van down by the river because the cost of living here is outlando calrissian. (I’m trademarking this.) I need a break after a visit to the Northeast. Time to unwind what wound up. Time to think. Time to write recaps and fill out expense reports. Time to ponder being away and returning home.
Comments 10
I always love me a good Shifter post with lots of snark! By the way, good sir, what was the focal length on the last picture?
Author
X100VI, so built in 23/35.
Sweep the leg, Daniel. Sweep the leg.
Author
Hook kick!
I liked “The Town” but as a plot point, I never really understood how Pete Postlethwaite’s character held such sway over all the criminals. Woking daily as a florist protected by a single overweight guy with a shotgun? Making people do his bidding? It seemed so unlikely. I mean he got what he had coming, but it was for deeds that had happened 30 years prior. Good movie though.
Author
Irish mob. Fifty years of running the heroin trade. Nothing moves without him knowing.
I was expecting you to use your patented hook kick.
Author
I’ve been practicing against a bamboo pole for the last six hours.
Bloody hell, I was eyeballing that pic with “George,” thinking, “Oi, I know that mug from somewhere!” Your yarn clicked it into place for me, lol. And it never fails to gobsmack me seeing the mob going full feral with phones, snapping like a flock of galahs on a lamington binge, chucking a wobbly over a celeb! Each to their own I guess.
By the way that last photo’s vantage point is a cracker. Imagine it with hectic storm clouds charging in, all dark and punchy.
Author
I’m fascinated by celebrity. Watching adult men scream and run to get a mobile pic of George Clooney never gets old. It’s so damn odd.