I want to be da mayor.
It's my town, y'all just live in it.
Walking past the Waltham Public Library, they had some Burma shave type signs announcing their utility. There was a beautiful girl sitting on the steps with her laptop, even though the library was closed, enjoying the 802.11.
Walking along Moody St, crisp blocks, chattering from restaurants, bars with their doors open (I didn't go in), calm, windless night, lonely girls smoking cigarettes, groups of young people with their takeaway, immigrants getting off work, greengrocers still open displaying rich papaya and discounted oranges.
Then across the Charles River, not quite at its height of several days ago. I thought I'd crossed the river for good nine years ago, but I was wrong.
Beautiful old brick and stone architecture. Harry's Shoes for rent even with its name emblazoned in the stone (maybe it was a great store and it's sad or maybe they were crooks; I don't know.)
Somehow my feet got me home (maybe I should write an Ode to My Legs ala Neruda).