Realtime

notes on a poetic rendering of Bob's. Idea of rela time, of a vacuum of great dimensions. A concentration of energies to do a thing, to move goods. The god of turn. The idea that speed and energy will somehow save us. The total concentration of will and energy to maximize turn, to celebrate language as it is spoken in the north of boston and to have fun. That summarizes Bob's for me as a place to hang around. In Bob's leaving for a time we savor a pass at succession, a way for the place to survive after Bob retires. The parking lot is the same always. The same great detritus whether Bob is there or not. Kvin towers over the place as Bob's standin, his true and honorable representative. The relatives hover but Kevin makes good decisions and leads the charge into the Christmas season of 1996. Without a falter or a bit of indecision. As a true leader he puts his large body on the front lines as Bob always has in the past. Bob watches with a wary eye and I hope is pleased with the way the place looks and runs in this the so-called holy season that is upon us. The joint hums and I look on with pleasure to see that we will get through the season with nary a pause or problem. No problemo. Kevin can do it. And does.

Time stands still. The world of stop and shop and walmart ceases to exist when one enters the shuttered portals of Bob's. There lies a tale.