Ditty

Frame of Mind || Leaving Cambridge

Chirping.Birds.Birds? I remember I usually get woken up by ambulance sirens, and I get the queasy feeling that my landlord is taking me for a ride. In the common room, Eugene forgot the lights on. Or not. It's just a rogue ray of sun that found it's way through the clouds, past trees and Victorian houses only to bounce off the white door of the pantry into my eyes. It lasts for only an instant. I make a quick exit and pass a delivery van as head up the street to my car. Tires follow me on the wet pavement. Slowly. Deliberately. This guy is either the worst kidnapper in history or he's just looking for parking. Since this is Cambridge and not Mexico City, it's the latter.

My car's underpowered 125 horses roar and I slide into the surprisingly empty Mass. Ave. The surprise is gone once I get around the bend and I have to cut the guy on my left to avoid a Coke truck delivering syrup in Central Square. Four lines of cars queue up on 2 lanes of road. I can almost smell, through 2 panes of tempered glass, the aftershave of the guy in the car next two me. I turn my head and he mouths "Go tuck yourself" (in?) . He makes no sense. And the traffic gets moving once again.

I make a left on Western Ave, past a row of crimson flags and I blow through a cleverly hidden stop sign. No harm. No foul. No cops. Shortly, after giving a Wendy's Chicken sandwich to the tool guy - or rather the equivalent in U.S. currency - I weave my way through I-90's three lanes and pass underneath of what it must be a sound-proofing engineering marvel - the Washington St. Sheraton.

And so it goes...