Boston - Day 2

August 19, 2004

0600. This morning I feel awful. I long for a hot bath and a full size bed. Looking up through the skylight of the vehicle I see green and hear soft birdsong. It is unreal. Manhattan last night and now wafts of England today. Falling out of the production vehicle I notice its fast deterioration. I take a stroll towards the main thoroughfare. Jamaica Plain is a pleasant, airy part of the city with parks and avenues of trees. It is quiet and even peaceful. We have breakfast at a fast food café. Egg sandwich and coffee. It helps ease the pain somewhat. My lower back sends sciatica shooting down my left leg as I take a seat at the back of popular establishment. The coffee tastes good. Bradley joins us looking pale and tired. Chris discusses food and meals for the crew. Up until now I am aware that there has been little or no time to sit down and eat probably. I acknowledge his concerns. Chris will simply not give up on me. That's when all the pain and the anger and the emotion pours out. We finish out the scenarios and return to the venue passing my assistant on the way who smiles cheerfully. The footlight club is a turn-of-the-century red brick building standing proudly in front of us. It reminds me of the many Masonic halls back in England. Oppressive in a way but solid and reliable. The drivers have skillfully parked the vehicles in a side entrance leaving the third on the street directly opposite the club. Following introductions and a walk round with two charming ladies we quickly jump into action. Bradley selects a room on the ground floor at the front of the building, for the interviews. This proves a poor choice later in the day when audio problems occur. Richard Knapp's portable studio is set up in a large area at the rear of the building. The building is quite remarkable. Adorned with wood veneer around every corner.

I know what it means to be hit by the adrenaline rush. Chris wires me up as Clint looks on with dazed eyes. I leave once again for the main road some one hundred yards away down the side street. Pure instinct challenges me to see the way ahead. One after another I greet and talk to absolute strangers. It is slow at first but I am charged with electricity.

'They will come,' Bradley said yesterday.

They are. I love the interaction. It is although I am really alive for the first time. I select but am generous today. People stare as I run from one side of the street to the other. People listen and rarely walk away. They need to talk, want to talk. It is their time and mine. All day I am on fire enraged with optimism and hope. Old and young they come. It is glorious. I am followed by some all day and regarded with some skepticism by others but never spawned.