Directions

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.