Jackson Street, 1977

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i actually remember 1977, not carter or kiss, but jackson street, central arlington, the old old house, long hair, skinny skateboards, sparkly banana seat bikes, good humor man, walking to see the jungle book with older kids at the buckingham theatre, before milk cartons with missing children, air bags, & tv remotes, my big wheel ruled the sidewalk, i was evel knievel, bushy blonde hair, kool aid, summer sprinklers, bee gees on the radio, deep childhood days, ocean island of memory.

(Note: This is a recent image of the house, we moved in 1978)

Old Dominion Cleaners, 1987

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be nice to me or i will break your shirt’s extra button, your polo, arrow, brooks brothers, van heusen, they arrive by the armload, stained, smelling like sweat & drakkar noir, but usually i’m in the back where it’s 91 degrees in windowless july scrubbing collars, tagging light or heavy starch, searching pockets for misplaced five dollar bills, i work alone, no music, 1pm to 5pm, three days a week, $4.25 an hour, my mom got me the job, wanted me to experience real life with ms. goodson who runs the place with her eye lash extensions & pall mall cigarette breaks, danny, she calls out with a richmond, va drawl, i need help up front, blind man tapping near our front door, clothes tumbling to the floor, i guide him, take his wrinkled jumble of pants & shirts, they reek like he’s worn them for a week straight, we get him sorted, later watch him tapping toward the bus stop, for a second i try to imagine his life in darkness, then i take a long sip from my lukewarm big gulp & get back to work.

Meditating at the Stanford Mall

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i don’t care about the new chanel store, but my wife does, she joins the line, starts chatting about shoes with the woman in front of her, i sit, put on a timer for 20 minutes, close my eyes, breathe, shoppers pass by, most probably don’t notice the quiet guy with hands on lap, a few likely wonder why i’m not staring at a screen, at instagram/tiktok/google news, but i don’t care, i hear snippets of conversation, where is the hermes store?, i don’t actually like sabrina carpenter, but mostly i just inhale, exhale, feel the warmth of a september day, pretend i’m not surrounded by consumerism, minutes move, my iphone alarm goes off, i stand up, walk over to j.crew.