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J. M. Herman


Medford, MA, US

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J. M. Herman

Wallace Street is empty because
it is Saturday and the sun is
newly risen. I have the T to myself
except for The Guitar Player who has
begun playing The Mississippi Blues and
now a man is sipping coffee from Dunkin
Donuts, but no one is as happy about
morning as me. I order a Chinese Danish
and ride towards Manhattan. I overhear
the old man next to me say, "Sam will
be waiting for us at Bowery." Aunt
Kim and Uncle Dan will meet me
for lunch in Greenwich but I see
them sooner when they help me search Fung
Wa for my wallet and loan me
some more cash that Citizenís Bank
wouldnít give me. Iím almost in Philadelphia
and Robert Johnson has never sounded
as sweet through Zackís headphones. The
hangover returns, so I take another Aspirin
before I exit the bus to find Jane, Lake,
Artur, and her friend Lora from Spain waiting
for me at Market Street. These people
remind me of Time Outís fried chicken
biscuit sandwich which was only $3.02
but if Ramirez was at the cash register
he made you pay the two Lincoln heads.
Jurassic 5 sounds good when Iím
face-down in bed and Janeís hands are
on my back.