The radio at Floyds 99 was turned up too loud.

“Comin’ to you on a dusty road,
Good lovin’, I got a truck load.
And when you get it, you got something,
So don’t worry, ’cause I’m coming…”

Marty’d always hated that song. First time he’d heard it he’d been drunk as hell, after all, and he didn’t like much from those days. Sure ‘those days’ lasted up until just last week, but still, he really didn’t like much that he remembered.

Stopping across from the Christian Science Plaza, he took the song in, though. The music flowed through him, the horns faint and barely recognizable. It was very hard to hear, music from another world, another time. By some miracle it was there, though.

Or maybe it was a curse in this case. Hell, it wasn’t even the original version of the song. It was the Blues Brothers one, and that made it all the more annoying. He’d never actually been into that barber shop, and now never would. Sure he could use a haircut, (his hair was matted and a bit crusty, as far as he could tell without touching it), but it wouldn’t make any sense now.

It was five o’clock in the afternoon, so of course the wide Massachusetts Avenue sidewalk was packed. There were Berklee students getting out of classes, or performances, or whatever it was they do in music school running to catch the orange or green line. Half of them seemed to be smoking, but Marty didn’t care; it wasn’t his problem what they did. He couldn’t smell it anyways.

Pulling the empty, dented Coors can he carried from his jacket pocket, he took another imaginary sip. It’d been a week, but he still hoped it might have a bit of scent in it at least. He’d tried throwing it away, but always stopped himself whenever he was actually near a bin or dumpster. At first he’d found it odd and mildly disturbing, but now approached them to feel that tug in his stomach telling him not to chuck the half-crushed can. It was painful, sure, but it was nice to feel it, he’d decided. Better than nothing.

As he continued to waft down Mass Ave towards Berklee, Marty found himself humming along with the Blues Brothers, a dour smirk on his face.

“I’m a soul man… da da da, da da da…”