An+Extraordinary+Morning

=**An Extraordinary Morning**= Two young men—you just might call them boys— waiting for the Woodward streetcar to get them downtown. Yes, they’re tired, they’re also dirty, and happy. Happy because they’ve finished a short work week and if they’re not rich they’re as close to rich as they’ll ever be in this town. Are they truly brothers? You could ask the husky one, the one in the black jacket he fills to bursting; he seems friendly enough, snapping his fingers while he shakes his ass and sings “Sweet Lorraine,” or if you’re put off by his mocking tone ask the one leaning against the locked door of Ruby’s Rib Shack, the one whose eyelids flutter in time with nothing. Tell him it’s crucial to know if in truth this is brotherly love. He won’t get angry, he’s too tired for anger, too relieved to be here, he won’t even laugh though he’ll find you silly. It’s Thursday, maybe a holy day somewhere else, maybe the Sabbath, but these two, neither devout nor cynical, have no idea how to worship except by doing what they’re doing, singing a song about a woman they love merely for her name, breathing in and out the used and soiled air they wouldn’t know how to live without, and by filling the twin bodies they’ve disguised as filth.