Boston, Friday, February 18th

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.