a dream on 158 south street, Norwell Massachusetts--
I am watching West Side Story on a small television in a large and empty, drafty warehouse (it is dark). Out of nowhere heavy jets of clay, (the kind dense enough for a well constructed dribble castle base)hit my hands like bullets. The clay dries in spots on my palms. An asian man pulls up in a blinking golf cart and jumps off. He takes my palms in his hands and, removing the clay, looks at my calloused palms. "Does your brother go out back and wring the necks of roosters?" he asks me.
"No," I say.
"Oh," he says,"I see. So you have wrung the necks of roosters."
He then seemed to notice I'd been watching West Side story, and I believe he approved of this.
OooH, nEW England!
oddly enough, this song reminds me more of Paris and Candace-
six degrees back and we find ourselves in Boston
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