walking around boston,
on our way to buy
scalped baseball tickets.
it's cold and it's just
the two of us, in a giant
crowd rushing into fenway park
to get a glimpse of our
First Place Red Sox
while they're at the summit of their season,
before they strike their annual summer slide.
a forty-something man with a mullet
approaches us and asks if
we need tickets, so we nod
and ask where they are and how much he wants.
a fifty-something woman walks by,
looks at the two girls buying
illegal tickets from a man,
and scorns at us as she folds her feather boa over her shoulders.
so the story of beantown continues;
it's rich with out-of-style hair specimens, wealthy bird killers, and people like us, who wander into boston twice a month to watch a baseball game before rushing back to our safe, suburban cities, where we can smell the refreshing scent of gunpowder and hear the soothing sirens every night.
