Monday 2/26/2007 10:53:00 PM

Outside the dollar store a man asked for directions to Princeton Avenue. He wasn't so much lost as just unsure. He was something out of the seventies. A little superheroish. The alter ego of. In a dull old Cadillac and wearing sunglasses in the rain.

It wasn't a hard sell to get him going from where we were. He was already headed in the right direction.

Just strange, getting asked for directions in February when you live next door to the ocean.

It used to be called the Laurelton Circle. Where our superhero was going. But now it's just a grandiose intersection. Bloated with u-turns and delayed greens. Keep right and you're headed for the big houses with lawns made of sand.

Stay in the middle and you'll hit the little cities we keep between the saltwater and the grass. Colloquial emissaries to the tourist trade. All old buildings surrounded by shiny new parking meters.

Go left and you're back where I first saw him. Looking like the nobody you see in so many comic books. The hero everyone's always looking at, but never can find.

I always wonder after I tell someone how to get there if they've found it.

Prick said...

I used to find it odd that in a crowded bus stop, the lost would approach me for directions. Now I'm so used to it, that when it doesn't happen, I find it odd.

But yes, I always wonder after I tell someone how to get there if they've found it.

RuKsaK said...

a definite shift in style for you. i don't want to say it works well, but that would suggest it works better than what you usually produce. it doesn't work better or worse, just differently. by saying that i mean this is as superb as usual - i loved it. the word that comes to mind is poignant, but esoteric at the same time. you are a stunning writer and reading this makes me follow your writing all the more.

alcoholic poet said...

guess you look like you know where you're going prick. vacationing in europe we got asked for directions quite a lot. and oddly, were often able to give them.

oh ruk. your compliments break my heart. in a good way.

what's really different about this one is that's is true. straightforward true. not my usual mosaic of broken memories pasted together. it happened, pretty much just as i told it, the afternoon before i wrote it.

people do love a true story in my experience.

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