fire & brimstone

it's been a strange week here in the land of the cod.

for the most part, this is a safe city. (random acts of violence in broad daylight damaging noodles notwithstanding.) when crime spikes or shots ring it's gang and drug-related, in the same besieged but isolated neighborhoods and since the victims are usually teenagers of color it all flies under the media radar. the rest of us stroll about admiring the tulips in the public gardens and enjoying the mayberry aspect of life in a small city. we feel unscathed and safe amongst cobblestones and friendly faces.

but this week:

monday: i let some staff duck out for coffee. when they came out of the shop, one froze in panic. her car was parked next to another that was ablaze. cops yelling, sirens blaring, acrid black smoke pluming up. happy memorial day.

tuesday: errands and getting dinner to-go from work for the owner and me. as monsoon rain begins to smash down, i descend into the subway, but a swarm of people are coming up, muttering. turns out there is a fire someplace -- all lines impacted -- no downtown "t" at rush hour. i slog towards home, getting drenched and muddy, and discover a jigsaw jam of fire trucks, haz-mat teams, emt's and police cordoning off a major train hub due to an underground fire.

wednesday: a "t" driver talking on her cell phone, crashes full-speed into another set of cars. she dies, 11 are injured. service remains disrupted 3 days later.

thursday: a twilight amble home through the commons. finally feeling relaxed and decompressed from work, i get to the entrance and am again met by police tape. cops shot a guy not long before. i keep going and don't rubberneck. what are all those other people watching?

friday: a landmark burns to the ground. a 4th generation fish business is consumed by a 7-alarm fire that began in the dark early morning. 130 firefighters work in vain. it's a ramshackle series of sheds on ancient wooden pilings. daily they shipped upwards of 50,000 pounds of lobster (plus major poundage of other fish) -- the place was full of cardboard boxes, refrigerants for the lobster tanks and walk-in coolers, oils that kept all the gears running. the fire became so intense the hose streams rolled right off it. at least $5 million gone and the building a complete loss. more suspicious whiskers might twitch and sniff for insurance lightning or real-estate muscling. open since 1925, the place is a decrepit briny vestige of the old waterfront, now surrounded by 5-star hotels and gleaming convention centers. the family swears they will rebuild.

i don't think the end is near, the 2nd coming isn't around the corner and i don't hear the hoofbeats of the apocalypse. if pat robertson's god was going to punish us for the whole gay marriage thing, i think that would have happened awhile back.

my acceptance of the random allows me to toss it all in the bucket of strange days. i imagine local newshounds have had wood all week rushing from drama to drama.

i do know when the heat rises and the economy lags, bad dangerous things happen more often.

anybody know what the farmers' almanac has to say about summer '08?

my deck seems like a good place to hang in the heat this year, ya know?