Our Hero Transplanted

Whalehead King has transplanted himself to Boston, Mass. far afield from New London, Conn. Things happen and life is a tricky cookie to unfold without breaking to get at the fortune. Soak liberally in sake and plum wine. Destiny is foretold under the aegis of a blue moon in the afternoon. Our hero's peid-a-terre has become his permanent address for awhile. He sits on the porch under the scorching sun, working on his tan (he is still in competetion) and bleaching his haircut in the late July rays.

Boston is a good city in which to be a medical biller and coder, and it is a good city in which to be a writer and artist. It is a good city in which to be an eccentric, even if Whalehead King is twenty years older than most of the college students who throng Boston's sidewalks after hours.
Jack Kerouac came from Lowell, Mass. This seminal influence was featured in yesterday's Sunday Globe. Mr. King feels his beat blood rising and pumping ready for a challenge.

Whalehead King has settled in Fourth Haven, the neighborhood a few blocks along Dorchecster Avenue off the JFK/UMASS T[**] stop between Savin Hill and Andrew Square. He is making the most of this low-key adventure, chronicling what happens and keeping busy enmeshing himself in his immeadeate day-to-day surroundings. If he had a paying job, it would be better, but even a minor genius cannot ask for too much in three weekdays.

We do not know if Boston has a bard, and Whalehead King doesn't really feel up to the task. He will be the Bard of Fourth Haven, perhaps. It reminds him of New London in some ways and it reminds him that he is far removed from his comfort zone in others. Either way he feels at home and suspsects everything will work out for the best. As usual, there may be ennuie, but no high drama. Time will tell what the future holds. In the meantime, Mr. King has tucked a Chinatown fortune into his wallet that he looks at every morning to uplift his spirits. The paper is an inch and a half long and a thrid of an inch wide. It reads, "You will have some kind of luck some day." The reverse says, "Bing-Chou=fried dough. Your lucky numbers are 2, 4, 6, 27 and 144."

Our hero finds good advice where you can.

**[ T is short for Metropolitan Boston Transit Authority. It is what these people call their subway. It is above ground much of the time, including the JFK/UMASS station.]