boats
Every few days, a new turn presents itself, or rather, the time to take it does. On the map, Massachusets Avenue intersects with Memorial Drive, becomes a bridge, and crosses a river. The reality is more impressive. A white, small buss hollowed out with a kitchen inside sells Greek food, to be eaten on a park bench along the famous, old, toxic charles river. The young and healthy, and those that wish they were, are jogging. Constsntly, in both directions. There is a parade of them. Behind the bench is a parallel traffic, that of automobiles along the drive. Beyond the foot path is another parallel: sailboats. Dozens of them glide in the wind. The bench is the only nonmoving thing. The surface of the Water is chaotic, and the surface of the whole Earth is teeming with things.
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