KENMARE STREET, 1969
I was never going anywhere and it
never reminded me of anything
at all, except maybe a Sear's washer.
What a street name indeed! The master
masons had a guildhall there. Some
creepy taxi guys were always around.
I knew one or two artists who had
their places there. Cramped quarters,
but nice nonetheless. And a girl
named Helen too.
-
Hungarians like that, I always did
treasure. There was something about
the oils of their skin that reminded me
of cooking. Especially in her case.
-
There was a guy with a '56 Chevy;
always up on blocks, it was; being
repaired, for things he'd never get
done. That was pretty weird; a
jumble of parts and a car up on
jacks, on a big-city street like that.
I watched it all, for at least 3 seasons,
3 quarters of a year. And then, one day,
a finally nice, late Spring day, it was
gone! I never knew what had happened.
-
I guess he finally fixed it and just drove off?
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