till I see marianne walk away

Sometimes (every day) I wonder why I still live in Boston. The weather sucks. People can be dicks. Complete dicks. The government is corrupt. The infrastructure is awful. It's segregated. It's worldly yet insufferably provincial. It's expensive. It's overrated. It suffers an inferiority complex to other cities—chiefly it's neighbor to the south—yes, Hartford. We're jealous of their terrific high school soccer teams, insurance companies and those god damned Whalers.

Boston is a tough nut to crack, and I have a love/hate relationship with her more profound than any ex-girlfriend I've ever dated. She drives me crazy, but I can't help but love her despite all the flaws. But somehow a break-up seems imminent. We can't go on. I can't live like this. We're two different, ah, people. We want different things. You have baggage. I have baggage. We're not meant to be. There are other cities out there. Who knows, maybe San Diego, LA, or Chicago is my soul city. I don't know. Maybe some dude from Milwaukee will make you happy. We just don't have a future together.

But then the Spring rolls around. Spring training, the flowers bloom, the skirts come out, the days are longer, the air is fresh, and we agree to stick it out. It will be different this time. I swear. I will try. You will try. For another 6 months. It's like a short-term lease. We'll see how it goes. We're no committing to anything. We're just going to see how this goes. And it always goes well. Right through September. But then she becomes a raging bitch again and I want to end it. I am right back to where we started a year earlier and can't believe how foolish I was to think she would change. Maybe it's me? I don't know, but what I do know is that this isn't working.

Right now I am in the throes of self-doubt and misery.

Today, was a tough day. We were in bumper-to-bumper traffic on Lincoln Street. Anyone from Boston knows my pain and is suddenly recanting one of their awful experiences on this little 3-block piece of shit street. Basically, it's a main thoroughfare through the edge of Chinatown. A few years ago, before the Big Dig, it was scarcely used, but now it's one of the main arteries into downtown. It makes sense from a geography standpoint. It's a straight shot from 93. Bang. Right in town from off the highway. So someone in the planning department actually used their fucking brain for once. However, and this is so Boston, the traffic department treats it as if it is still an obscure side street. They overlook the double and triple parking that occurs, daily, because people are shopping in the Chinese supermarkets. It's a nightmare. Trust me.


Today was no different. It was clogged. Lots of honking horns. Angry gestures. Pedestrians flipping off drivers. Drivers flipping off pedestrians. It's just an angry little gauntlet and perhaps why I didn't pay much attention to the truck in front of me. The driver was punching the passenger seat. Really hammering away at it like whack-a-mole. If figured he was releasing steam because he was late for work, and this little 3rd world country shit was driving him mental. Chalk it up to road rage. Hey we've all been there. I'm with ya pal. Put some muscle into it. Let it rip. Whatever gets you through this.

Then, I saw a guy on the corner (outside old Weggies, no less) yelling at the guy in the truck. This dude looked weathered. He was probably in his 30s, but appeared to be in his late 40s because of hard-livin'. He wore clothes much too youthful for his age bracket. White scally cap. Running pants. Bright white sneakers. Basically Ben Affleck's character in Southie's own Good Will Hunting. But most remarkable about his presence were the crutches he was using.

He was yelling at the truck and angrily pointing a crutch at him in sync with every syllable.

I figured he was nuts. Hopped up on junk and totally out of sorts. We rolled through the intersection, but were soon jammed up at the next choke-point a few car lengths ahead.

Then, I saw the dude in the crutches hobbling down the street. He was yelling at the truck. I rolled down my widow to get a front row seat on the drama unfolding. He was definitely strung out, I thought, while he wildly yelled like a maniac.

Hey tough guy. Why don't you come out here and pull that shit? Yeah, I'm talking to you tough guy. Big tough prick, huh. Why'nt you try that shit with me, fuckface. Come on out. Right here. Get outta the fuckin' truck.

Then I looked in the truckin front of us and saw a head pop-up from the passenger seat. Oh shit. That dude was punching, a woman?! Oh my God. What the fuck.

The guy in the truck hopped out to make good on the good samaritan's offer. He started fighting the dude in the CRUTCHES. I was going to jump out, but then I remembered I was a complete pussy and didn't want to get shot, stabbed, or worse, punched in the nose. Seriously, what's worse than that? You can't help but cry. I would rather get two dozen shots to the head than one in the nose. That's a game changer. Done. I'm done. Throw in the towel. We're good. You win.

All of that aside, the guy in the crutches held his own. He shoved him back and stood his ground. The dude in the truck retreated. Jumped in his truck and sped off, but was forced to jam on his brakes because we were still stuck in traffic, of course. Donkey.

Admirably, the brave citizen in the crutches kept at it with the coward in the truck. He was peppering comments until the light turned green and we were released from the clutches of awful fucking Lincoln St. It was awesome. I was proud of the guy. But in contrast, what a douche was I, for making a judgment on him in the first place. He showed more decency by standing up for what was right than I did from the comforts of my car.

Naturally, the self-loathing set in and I was depressed for a couple of hours.

But then I saw this Pulitzer-worthy sequence and felt much better:

I hope I didn't get a ticket. There's no where to park around here. No meters. Fuck it. I was only in there for like 5 minutes. I should be safe.

Whoa, whoa, whoa!

Oh you fuckin' prick. I'm goin' down.

Fuck, I'm gonna spill my coffee.

Oh sweet Jesu…ZZZZZZZZZZ

This is about as close to perfection as one can get. The only thing missing are the next three photographs.

1. He smashes his head on the pavement.
   
2. Completely out cold on the sidewalk.
   
3. He wakes up and looks around all confused and is greeted with nothing but apathy. Just as cold and icy as the pavement he just slipped on.

Welcome to The Hub of the Universe. I hate you. I love you.