July 10, 2009
posted by Caroline Picard
- A stream of women wearing pink clothes walks down North Avenue. They trickle down from Ashland as early as six, increasing in density as the day progresses and petering out by five p.m. They wear pink shirts and pink short and pink visors and fanny packs. They walk with purpose and they stop in to get coffee sometimes or look at shoes sometimes or sometimes to rest themselves. Breast Awareness is written in Lucida Handwriting across their backs. There is a wino on a bench at North and Wood. Whenever a woman crosses the street he claps his hands and cries out, “BOOBS!”
- I saw a middle-aged woman on a plane in power suit. She kept pulling a tin of tiger balm out of her pocket, unscrewing the lid and inhaling, deeply. When she breathed in her eyes rolled back, fluttering a little, as though in ecstacy. She could feel me watching her out of the corner of my eye.
- I heard about boys in summer camp who came upon the realization that tiger balm felt good. They would gather together, applying tiger balm to their assholes in a secret part of the woods that others couldn’t find. They smiled at each other when it started to menthelate.