Went to the fireworks... first time in years. Had to be more than a million people, Parkway jammed from Museum to Love Park.. .& that jammed too. I was there more for the crowd, the holiday scene -- fireworks are nice, but lost the thrill they had in childhood. Went alone. Felt like an island of calm in a tsunami… waves of people breaking over me to no effect. Twice fights broke out nearby. Cops by the dozen waded in but fighters gone into the crowd.
From far back where I was--few paid much attention to the fireworks. Young people on the prowl, clinging to their friends, each alone in search of their own erotic fantasy fulfilled. Wrapped in their dreams, not fireworks nor much of anything outside them caught their notice, let alone their attention. Easy to wrap myself in my aura & be invisible. An old guy--straw hat & lots a gold bling--hand on my shoulder.. "We old school!" he says. Small man, high cheekbones & prominent jaw—could have played Sammy Davis Jr in his last days. He talked.. .& talked. shook hands. shook hands again. "Gimme a hug," he says, & we hugged -- a moment's intimacy with someone I'd likely never meet or speak with—but for my own assemblage. Don't tell me Spirit Stick don't have power! “Marcellus,” he says is his name. "I'm 67 year old," he says. "70, I say. "No shit!... well, nothin lasts & every minutes a gift." "Amen to that, I say" ... & he, too, disappeared into the crowd.