a flat cement runway cut through dense fog, a green ocean lapping up both sides of asphalt,  shepherding us to an enshrouded chinese temple at the edge of sight, that turned out to be an empty tourist look out. The expansive ocean view: five feet into a white void.
A sound so low and sonorous that it got hold of you at the base opened up from the nothingness sky. This chaos grew louder, until it visibly revealed itself as airbuses, several shades of grey darker than the clouds that enveloped it, as close as planes should be to your head, flying into Logan Airport, seemingly a stones-throw away. Wouldn't the bright yellows, red, and oranges of an explosion be beautiful amongst all of this harboring grey?
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mammoth-sized, deserted factories that sheltered the sky for those traipsing the sidewalks under turquoise-oxidized streetlamps. South Boston. wondered into a dwarfed pub : "Murphy's Law" to find ourselves the only customers besides an obese man on his second or third coors light, his bar stool turned away from the door, and towards a flat screen. I took out money from the atm, the bills have been bathing in the noxious odor of moth balls, undisturbed and resting. The overhead florescents were on, and I was feeling pretty ravenous, so my first pint went down in an impatient swirl. Shamus, the barkeeper, found several commonalities with G and myself, and thus started unloading his tumultuous life patterns on us: divorce, unemployment, daughter, friend screwing the wife, neighbors finding out....etc. He was on the verge of tears when he explained a story of running into the ghost of Lizzie Borden, the young girl in Fall River, MA, who axed up her parents. Perhaps this was around the same time that he diagnosed himself as an alcoholic, nonetheless, it makes for a great story.

Lizzie Borden

Lizzie Borden took an axe, 
gave her mother forty wacks.
When she saw what she had done,
she gave her father forty-one.


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