Two nights a week (if I'm lucky). I practice kung-fu in a basement. Hot in the Summer, cold in the Winter, the classroom smells like mold and children's socks. It's humble, grubby, and the only place I would ever take kung-fu. Three hours a weak, I empty out my head and get sweaty.
Part of going to class is the long walk home. With U2 (or the Beatles, or Sam Cooke, etc.) pouring in through my i-pod, I slip into the city night. With every step, I feel the satisfying exhaustion settling over me. By the time I get through the front door, I wonder why I'm still standing. Feels so good.
Just as I left the building this evening, Somerville offered up its loneliest couple. The young woman and her boyfriend walked with arms around each other, close as if they had been together for years. Both of them had a cell-phone pressed against an ear, and they leaned away from one another. They chatted animatedly into their phones, and they both seemed happy. She giggled, he talked loudly. Each could have been talking to a best friend.
As I passed the CVS, I noticed the man with the cup in his hand. "I'm homeless," I heard him say, "and sick and hungry." I slipped my hands into the pockets of my jacket, which I could feel were not empty. A cell-phone, a hair-pick, and a rock that Emma handed me as we walked to preschool. No money at all.
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