Inbound meet outbound

Two executive types stopped into Tom English's this afternoon.  You know the type: bespoke, chalkstripe, dark worsted woolen suits with cashmere scarves and camel hair topcoats.  Their silk socks matched their silk neckties and their pocket squares matched their handkerchiefs.  Squares.

These two executive types, reeking of hair oil and aftershave, took the two available seats at the bar between Drunk Charlie and Slats McAdam who were debating the merits of fluoridating water on one end, and Sliver Malloy and Molly, who were debating why Molly doesn't like sleeping in the buff anymore.  It was Inbound meet outbound.

One of the executive types told the barkeep, "I just want a shot of milk."  His companion remarked he was thinking the same thing.  The bartender, none too pleased to be pouring out an ounce of good White Russian ingredient at a low profit margin, asked for confirmation.  "Yep," Executive Number One answered, "Two shots of milk.  I would normally ask for whisky but something about this part of town calms my nerves and I want to keep my stomach settled.  It feels good in Dorchester and I don't want to ruin it by aggravating my ulcer."  His companion concurred.

Two shots of milk it was, neither shaken nor stirred.  The two executive types toasted each other and downed their shots.  They paid their two dollar tab with a three dollar tip, big spenders, and they headed down Dot Ave and then Crescent Street to the JFK/UMASS station.

Once the door closed behind them, Slats McAdam interupted Drunk Charlie's conspiracy monologue.  "I think they were spies," Slats confided.  Charlie looked out the plate glass window at the suspects' backs. "They're not spies," Charlie said, "their just speculators.  I'm gonna speculate they'll be around a lot more in the future."

Turkey patrol

I met with the Edison Kid in the apartment he shares with his mother and sister on Edison Green in Dorchester, just south of Dot Ave's intersection with Columbia Road. Edison Green is the street's name as well as the name of the park that the pavement surrounds, and it is the name of the apartment building that makes up the hypotenuse of this quintessentially, strangely shaped Boston street. I vote in that that building. The street runs in four directions. You won't find that in Oklahoma City.

The Edison Kid is fourteen years old and he asked that I keep his secret identity anonymous. Because he is a minor I agreed. He wore a domino mask a-la the Lone Ranger and the Two-Gun Kid while we spoke, though his family's name was prominently written on the mailbox by the front door I knocked on to gain access.

"I'm going to keep turkeys out of the park," the Edison Kid told me and he said it like he meant it. What does he have against turkeys? I told him I hadn't seen any turkeys in our neighborhood and that I walk about just about every day, keeping tabs on what's going on in our shared jurisdiction. "I think the turkeys will eat all the hickory nuts in the park," the Edison Kid replied. "If they do that, the squirrels won't have anything to eat. There'll be no turkeys on Edison Green while the Edison Kid is on watch."

I'm no turkey biologist but I always thought turkeys eat grubs and forest dander. "No, no," the Edison Kid corrected me, "They're scavengers. They'll eat anything that isn't nailed down. They're the goats of the bird world. They're opportunists. They'll even eat tin cans if they have to."

I asked the Edison Kid how he meant to drive the turkeys away. He was wearing a pork pie hat that was a few sizes too large, and he pulled it down so the brim touched the top of his mask. "I'll show you," he said and then he marched into his bedroom to come out again armed with a wrist rocket slingshot. "Is that legal in Massachusetts?" "Sometimes a vigilante doesn't obey the letter of the law," he replied.

"What's your ammunition?" I inquired. He reached into his pocket and shook a 25-cent box of Boston Baked Beans. "Any baby can buy candy," he told me. "I buy these beans for shot. They won't kill the turkeys and they won't give 'em lead poisoning, but they'll scare the bejeezus out 'em and keep 'em out of Edison Green."

Feral turkey sightings have been on the rise in Boston recently in the most improbable places but so far they haven't been seen in North Dorchester. Is the Edison Kid responsible? He admits he hasn't seen any himself but he is on the lookout. Turkeys beware.

Dial D for deadly dog fighting

The Boston Globe reports on a dog-fighting arena housed in a first floor apartment on Raven Street in Dorchester. Raven Street is a short, dead end lane off Crescent Avenue in the corner of N'orchester a short stroll from the JFK/UMASS station on the Red Line. It is amazing what things are tucked away in the crannies of a big city. Note that the arena was located in the first floor apartment. You think you have noisy neighbors downstairs?

Dog fighting used to be a fairly common amusement in Boston, along with cock fighting and bear baiting. Bull fights are still popular a few thousand miles southwest of the Boston border and a few thousand miles across the Atlanic on the Iberian peninsula. Overall, blood sports have fallen out of fashion in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

Boxing is still respected in Boston and the fine art of pugilism has its practitioners and admirers. When a boxer uses his teeth instead of his fists, the public starts to loose its appetite for one-on-one combat, however. Remember what happened to Mike Tyson's reputation. People fighting each other, man-to-man, mano-a-mano, are acceptable for wagering. Dogs? Not in this civilized city, buddy. We have a society that prevents cruelty to animals.

The Ryan Playground is right around the corner from Raven Street, on Dot Ave between Crescent Ave and Romsey Street. You won't find boxing or dog fights there. The sports run more along the lines of dominoes, pinochle, and mah jong. Even then, tempers run high and violence can break out.

Even dog racing is illegal in Massachusetts now. The proprietors of the Raven Street venue must have known they were breaking the law. All future exhibitions of canine combat are presumed cancelled until further notice.

Convenience

We don't usually go to Cappy Convenience late at night. This corner where East Cottage Street and Crescent Avenue branch off Dot Ave, is a busy intersection and Cappy's is likewise usually busy. I go early in the morning just after they open, 6:00 AM most days, to pick up a newspaper and coffee. It's not too crowded then. I sometimes stop in after work to pick up sundries and there is a line, but nothing like New Store on the Block that is a convenience store/Dunkin' Donuts outlet/state-sponsored gambling mecca.

The streets weren't congested last night. Traffic along Dot Ave was surprisingly light and I parked my Littlest Ninja without having to search for a nook within which to fit it. Cappy's, however, was packed to the seams with people making all sorts of purchases. When I entered the store the line was eleven people thick. I picked up my bags of Boston Baked Beans and Swedish Fish, then dutifully waited to pay for my purchases. I thought a little bite of sweet would be a nice way to end the night. What were other people buying at 10:30 PM?

I can't vouch for everyone but the couple in front of me had a gallon of skim milk and two apples. When they got to the register, they also grabbed a handful of miniature peanut butter cups and requested a pack of strawberry cigarillos. The boy in front of them, who was wearing only jeans and a tee shirt (50 degrees at the end of February in New England!), had purchased three bags of Andy Capp's Hot Fries and 18 oz. of Sprite.

If this is an example of the foot traffic Cappy's commands every evening, no wonder the place is so well stocked and dustless. I plan to go back tonight for further investigation and to pick up some more baked beans. We polished off the remainder this afternoon. This may not be the best night for this experiment. A snowstorm is predicted for tomorrow so no doubt people will be stocking up on the usual staples to weather this last gasp of Winter. I had better wait a month or so.

Stopping Traffic

We don't usually allow politics to encroach on the Dot Matrix's dispatches and your humble narrator remains neutral in presidential politics. Sometimes life's little incidents need to be recorded. Such was the case today.

While walking up Crescent Street to the Banshee for a post-work nip, we passed a rather striking woman en route to the JFK/UMASS T station. She was in her mid-forties and the a pair of UMASS students turned their heads like owls after the woman had passed them. They stumbled and bumped into each other, they were so distracted. Such young and virile men aren't usually so drawn to a vivacious, professionally dressed brunette twenty-odd years thier senior. We were intrigued and quick marched up close behind them to eavesdrop.

One of the young men said, "Did you see that hottie?" and his companion sniggered that he had. The first young man continued, "I think I'm in love."

His companion asked, "What's to love?"

The first man said, "She's got Sarah Palin eyes."

His companion said, "Yeah, but she's got Joe Biden's smile. I wouldn't trust her in the sack."