Coffee

Twelve hour long shift. Didn't even want to go in, wanted to ask to get off early. No such. Much running about, much standing and scrubbing, a stint holding a leg in a very unnatural position - for me, not the person who's leg it was. Well, not especially for them, and they got to be under anesthetic. Last case with a surgeon with less than ideal taste in music. And now I have classic hair metal in my head, where it clearly is not welcome, and does not belong.

Although, it does remind me of an evening walking home from the train in Boston, through the Common, over Beacon Hill, and down towards Charles Street. Less populated after dark, a stretch that got my street instincts tingling after dark, and a couple of guys at the corner, another joining them, the rough and homeless type. I strode with cautious bravado, false too-much-in-a-hurry-to-be-bothered, until one started singing, and the other two joined in, harmonizing, "Same old story, same old song and dance, my friend...." They sounded really good, especially so to me in my reflexive defensiveness, and I smiled in relief. I doubt they even saw me as they sauntered away.

D has since wondered if I had in fact spotted Aerosmith. I don't think they are quite that down on their luck, although Steven Tyler was spotted at the MGH coffee shop regularly. Possibly because they had really good coffee* (not that I know, but so I was told.) On the other hand, really good musicians are dime a dozen in Boston.

Reminded me also of walking around Detroit, and seeing young men on the corners. White guys in such groups were trouble, to be avoided by going the other way around the block, or across the street. But groups of young black guys were generally not a threat, although more vocal. They'd comment on me as I walked past, and I would smile, murmur a greeting, and that would be all. I'd been tipped off by an older woman who'd lived in that part of the city for many years, and her advice proved sound. I don't know if it is the same today.

D fed me, rubbed my back with Tiger Balm, and I sit in stunned stupor.




*I really can't stand coffee. Even the smell is repulsive to me. I attribute this to my father's habit of pouring hot coffee on shredded wheat, which smells like wet dog. I tried to drink it in the army, as the only available caffeine, and never could get more than a sip down.