Quincy Quarries

I had a magical experience on a recent, sunny day.

Here’s what I expected: an exciting afternoon as a passenger on my boyfriend’s racing motorcycle — feeling its pull underneath my thighs, the thrill of holding on so I don’t go splat on the street (which has gotten more thrilling, less overwhelming as time goes on).

What I didn’t expect: to walk into an enchanted land of bizarre, painted rocks, that I hadn’t known existed. This is the Quincy Quarries.

We had gotten lost – the recipe for anything interesting – and Akira suggested, “how about we go to that park we passed?” We left the bike in the lot and followed a small trail that cut through a sparse grove of trees surrounding various small boulders. Our first hint of the unusual was the painted slogans on some of these rocks: “Teachers Inspire” and “Die 4 My Bitch.” I still regret forgetting to take a couple’s selfie next to that one.

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I’m Just Getting There Fast As I Can, Same As You

It takes a certain kind of person to live in the woods on and off since 1998.

Jimmy has what it takes.

The first time I saw him, I was driving in Belmont, near McLean hospital, and there was a man, walking on the sidewalk, carrying his belongings on a bag tied to the end of a stick. Original hobo. I marveled and drove on.

The second time I saw him, it was on the bus. He wore mirrored shades. It was winter. Shorts exposed his bare calves, which were riddled with thick veins. His face was fuzzy with whiskers, wrinkles, chapped skin.

We exchanged a few words. Probably about the weather. I realized this was the same guy I had seen walking in Belmont. Not because of his stick, which I don’t think he had. Rather, it was the way he carried himself – slowly, as if trying not to fall apart. But steadily, too, like he couldn’t be broken. Continue reading