I occasionally come here to walk, almost always at night and most often in the rain when less people were around. Like tonight. As David Bowie following in the footsteps of John Lennon well knew, fame certainly comes with a price. No more anonymity, especially in my former hood.
Many things had changed since the 2 years I’d been gone. The old Hands On Car Wash behind Aunt Jen’s where I lost my cherished spool table was now the Crown Car Wash, taken over by big corp.
Fern’s old Foreign and Domestic car parts place across the street from it had been bought out by a neighboring business dealing with electronic circuits.
But Fern herself was still in the area; had herself bought a failing Crucial Fix Jamaican coffee shop nearby and turned it into a self named cafe, no possessive form this time. Just plain Fern — actually The Fern as I’m thinking of it. Drove by it during the day already…
… but try as I might, I couldn’t find it now in the dark and the driving rain.
Once found, I planned to spend time there with the smartest person I knew, black white or any other color. Except maybe for Stinch’s uncle’s cousin up in Grapeshot who could sell bacon to a policeman, ha. Fern’s a mentor for sure.
10:43. Better get back to the “mansion” and pick which of my 7 king size beds I’m going to sleep in tonight and pick one of those Red books to fall asleep by. Author a guy with Mars in his name — go figure. J. Marston. Could be John, could be Jack. But probably Jack, the son. I’m on chapter 4 now: ‘How to Deliver a Foal’. Fascinating reading; getting sleepy just thinking about it. Here’s my turn.
Sunklands 