Serial Swindler

Do you recall the man from this post, readers? Well, I didn't tell you, but I saw him again in September. Only that time he was screaming about how he'd lost a bed lottery at MIT and needed seven dollars to get on the commuter rail at Porter Square (for reasons I've now forgotten). And even though I recognized him, I gave him the two dollars in my wallet, because his story was so convincing that I assumed he'd been telling the truth both times. Except that I saw him get off before Porter Square and run to a different train car with our seven dollars. Maybe he wanted Raisinets for the journey.

But then I saw him again. And again he proclaimed an incredible tale of uber-specific misfortune to the entire train car.

"Can anyone on this train give me 22 bucks to get a picture ID? I'm up for my section 8 housing, but they won't see me if I don't have a picture ID... I've waited months and months for this, and all I need to do is get through the RMV. I already got three dollars from the cafeteria at Mass General before I got kicked out by the cops. Please everyone, can you spare anything? Two dollars or three dollars just to get me through the RMV. I just want a roof over my head. Please, I just want a bed."

Always rush hour, always between Park Street and Harvard Square stations, always the middle of the train. Who cares if he's a repeat offender? He's creative, he does his research... the guy is good. No wonder the MBTA is following him.

Squeaky Wheel

I've become the kind of person who wears the same pair of shoes every day. And though my current pair is pretty new, they've developed a quirk that defines me wherever I walk. That is to say, the right one has. It makes a rubbery squack every time it meets a walking surface. It happens on concrete, gravel, brick, and even certain carpets. I've investigated the sole of the shoe many times, but I think I'm going to have to call in a professional. For now, I'm enjoying the audible rhythm of my days and the backwards glances from walkers past and the fascinated stares from their kids and pets. Step, click, step, squack, step, squeak. Broadcasting the pace of my life.

Face/Off

I found myself in a game of chicken with a goose today while I rode my bike up the Riverway. She won.

Mystery Boxes

Getting onto the train today, I spotted a dainty box in the lap of an awkward boy I sat next to. It was shaped like a white gingerbread house and brushed with warm oriental flowers and unfamiliar red characters. It looked imported, but it was made of the thin cardboard Mike's Pastry uses, and he held it in his hands as though he'd only just acquired it.

I suppose this won't surprise you, but I was so stricken by the guy's parcel that I bumped into him. I apologized. He looked up at me to report that he was fine. I thought that was enough to serve as an invitation for my burning question.

"Where did you get that box?" I blabbed.
"Chinatown," he answered, looking pleased at my interest. And then, as if he knew it was inevitable, he peeled back the top flap to give me a peek. "They're Chinese treats; I don't really like them, but they're for a friend."

I guess I'd expected a collection of beads or thimbles or an exotic talking bird, but the fluffy breads kind of killed the magic. I looked down at the book in my hands.

"So... how are you?" he asked anxiously.
"Good," I sighed. "Glad to be done with work and headed for a nap." I smiled faintly and lifted my bookmark.

And that was how we failed to meet each others' expectations.

Jam Tomorrow, Jam Yesterday

The other day I walked into Starbucks to find a bitter old man accosting each barista, one by one, with variations on the following:

"You wanna jam!? I'll show ya how to jam!"

"You think you know how to jam, huh?"

"Why do you always wanna jam?"

I really don't know what he meant by jam, but this is what I was thinking:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-MLwPW86Rs

After they asked him to leave enough times, he showed himself out and proclaimed, "Ya' all so fuckin' stupid!"

Random Acts of Worship, Pt. 2

I was waiting for an outbound green line train on Thursday when I heard a solo Amen chorus from somewhere in the station. The concrete walls muddied the sound so that I had no clue where to find its source. People around me leaned forward and back to peer around columns, but no one knew where to find the singer. When my train pulled up, I crossed the platform and lined up to get on. It seemed that a train had just dropped off another load of red line passengers, because a crowd of people swarmed up from the lower level. I glanced over to where they came from and noticed a tall black man lowering his straight arms from overhead just as the singing stopped.

Random Acts of Worship, Pt. 1

There is an idol in a box along Willow Street in Somerville. It's set in front of the porch of a blue house on an all-residential block. I think it's Jesus, but I'm not sure. It is a little Prince dressed all in white with a cape and crown. He's worn and water-damaged, but there are usually some fresh flowers in front of and around his box. I have seen him many times and thought about taking a picture of him for the blog, but I wasn't sure if he really spoke for himself.

A few days ago, I saw an old man in a blue L.L. Bean jacket standing before the prince with bowed head. It was pretty cold out, but the man braved the wind with his bare hands folded softly across his chest. There are churches all over the neighborhood. I had to wonder why the man chose that place to pause.

XOXO

I just saw a man scattering Kibbles n’ Bits in Copley Square. He held the bag with one hand and reached in for handful after handful with the other, tossing the little brown shapes like wedding rice. I tried not to crunch any as I walked through them, so as not to disrupt his mysterious project and not to leave smelling like dog food.

I wonder what happened after I left. Specifically, I wonder if all the dogs in the park suddenly gathered around him and marched and munched in a swirly kaleidoscope.