Out at that Park in Newtonville (A villaige of newton), then, on the fourth
of July, I wasn't very happy. Fireworks, larger than life itself, and
certainly louder - and longer.  
 
I understand after this trip, what a very specific place Newton
Massachusettes is in the world. You could easily miss it with your finger
on a map, or driving on the Mass-Pike. A suburb off a highway, twenty
minutes west of Boston. Nothing special. Was it my home - is it a home?
Massive highways lead me away from newton and into boston, to be more
precise, under Boston towards the airport. Our driver had the radio tuned
on to some AM station which played music from the 60's and 50's (or so I
think).
My mom sang along to a song called Captain Kangaroo. I said something like:
"You sing so lovely", so she stopped singing. And I said "I wasn't being
sarcastic". And she said: "I haven't heard that song in a long time", and I
told her that she should go on singing if she wanted to, and she said she
didn't.


I went with Mom and dad to get Ice-cream the other night. And we went to a
store in Newton Center called JP Licks. We went in and Becca was working
there. She screamed "Oh my God" and then made me a milkshake and didn't
charge me for it.  My dad had already payed, so he whispered to me twice:
"Her intentions were good".
I only saw her that night, from approximately 10:30 till 10:40 in that Ice
cream parlor, where she works, and haven't since.

That's the magic about America. Seeking intimacy - finding your face within
the massive extent of that land. Giant Posters coverling even gianter
buildings and roadsigns. Small talk, friendly smiles, "Wonderful"...