by Allen Finn
Over salted pretzels and stale piss.
a woman with 5 distinct coils
of tarnished silver poking from her chins,
discussing— one personality to another—
who fed the cats and if the condensed milk was left on the stove.
A baby in a backpack narrowly avoids the jaws of the Red Line.
Drakkar Noir, Pine Sol, menthols.
a cab driver drifts between
his Bluetooth conversation,
cleaning fingerprints with a spit-soaked handkerchief
and nearly killing passengers with an ill-timed merge onto Mass. Ave.
A shop that deals only in houndstooth hats is having a sale.
Ocean-air, whiskey, and crab rangoon.
the Seaport Hotel at 1 Seaport Way
offers views of the harbor,
a pillow library,
and room service until 12:30 a.m. (on Fridays and Saturdays).
We browse magazines and laugh and Boston looks beautiful from the 14th floor.