Thursday, July 24, 2014

Pay to play!

When I was a boy there was a place that I wanted to go to because it was the beginning of getting there. Jimmy lived on the left side of the boardwalk; the potato chip factory was on the right hand side of the boardwalk; you could always find a bag of chips in the outgoing trash bins; they had boxes full of chips, free. With a bag of chips in my hands, I would walk the boardwalk down to the river's edge. When you got to the water, you never knew who would or could be there. The "hobo" was still riding the rails of the train in my youth. My spot had a bridge for the trains to cross over; that is where the "hobo" would jump off, or jump on the train going to Boston. Some of them camped along the river's bank; you grow up fast when you hang out with the "hobo," some of them were very "strange" guys. The Charles' river is a very sexual river at least as seen through my eyes. The cemetery backs up the road that I step off of and onto the boardwalk on my way to the river. The guys from town swing in the limbs of those trees as they masturbate. Christ! What a wonderful neighborhood. When the fish were running through the shallows on the low spots along the river, you could walk across the "Charles" on their backs.  My spot was a beautiful spot along side the river's edge. I would swing out from the river's bank holding on to a rope that is swinging out over the water as it is tethered to the extending branch of the old tree. But I was always worried about the snapping turtles snapping at my "joy toy" because I was naked. When I was a young boy we would all swim naked in the boy's club swimming pool, boys with the boys, girls with the girls no matter the age as I remember it. But those swimming in the Charles river under the bridge were "sophisticated" and had beer to share with you. You know, just like the back room of the barber shop, they had "dirty" books, naked women. They used to laugh at me when I was looking at the pictures; we masturbated. Potato chips and "hobos" along the Charles River- when I got older I would walk up the hill's path past the "peacocks" caged in by the farmer to the "titty" bar beer joint along the railroad tracks. You could shoot pool if you wanted to; the "strippers" got my money. Yes, one way or another, you will pay with your innocence or your dollars; then too you could "barter" your way out of these social experiences that you had garnished along the way.