Tomatoes in My Pocket

I've been harvesting cherry tomatoes all week. I grow some on my deck—bright orange. I swear they smell like citrus when I pick them. Grapefruit, maybe. And there's a patch of red cherries near the old mansion in my neighborhood where I sometimes walk with Frisket. My neighbor calls wild tomatoes volunteers. I appreciate their effort.

Monday I cooked them with Italian sausage, broccolini and a bit of butter. Is there anything better than tomato infused oil? Tuesday we had leftovers. By Thursday we were running low, so I foraged more.

Saturday night we went to DC to see our friends in Black Eyes play at the Black Cat. On the way, I drove, so I got to pick the music. The Psychedelic Furs—a band I loved since childhood. I told Paul about one of the most cringe things I've done, which involved holding a boy's hand and listening quietly through an entire song. Paul said, "I think you have to be cringe to be an artist."

I asked him what he meant and he elaborated. "You don't get cringe without taking risks. It's not cool to feel things deeply. And why even bother making art if you don't care about anything?"

Arriving in DC, we saw soldiers walking around. National Guard, brought in by Trump. I've been to Guatemala, where police wear camo and carry assault rifles. It was unsettling there. It's unsettling here. But I saw more people wearing FREE DC shirts than soldiers, which was comforting.

Black Eyes are fun. I missed their heyday—they'd broken up just before I met them all, and now, twenty years later, they're touring again. Young girls in pigtails and X’d up hands moshing at the front of the stage. That used to be me.

During the set I reached into my coat pocket and felt something unexpected. Soft and smooth, like a superball. I pulled it out—a cherry tomato, probably in there for a month. Totally fine somehow.

This is me, at a dance-punk show, with a foraged cherry tomato in my pocket.

When I got home I put it with its brothers.

Sunday night we saw more old friends. Pissed Jeans at the Ottobar here in Baltimore. Heavy punk. Raw and yet flawless. Feels like you're watching the Stooges. The drummer is one of my oldest friends. Sometimes you're states apart, but when you see each other again, you know you're family.”

I stayed to watch the headliner, High Vis. Hard core/punk with a very British flavor. The singer performed like Shaun Ryder. When they warmed up with a Stone Roses riff, I knew I was in good hands.

At one point during the show, I put my hand in my pocket and felt something nestled in a fingerless glove.

Another tomato.

So I guess that's my thing now.