“Cruising on Mass Ave” by Dan Grossman

Cruising on Mass Ave

from the collection Mindfucking Roundabouts of Carmel, Indiana: Poems and Short Prose

Driving Uber on Mass Ave in Downtown Indianapolis after dusk, I find no surge premium for dreamtime. I find, instead, Eadweard Muybridge on the corner of Mass and New York Ave. He’s projecting on the street the world’s first motion pictures: boys playing leapfrog, nude women walking up staircases, and galloping horses. The drunk passenger behind me sticks her nails into my shoulders. She says, “I’m gonna give you the massage to end all massages.” But when I pull to a stop she vomits out the window instead. The woman exits my vehicle, enters the Metro bar through the front door. Out that same door Al Pacino struts, decked out in leather like in the film Cruising. As soon as Pacino taps his smartphone “Al” is pinging my Uber app. I accept the ride and Pacino gets in my vehicle. He leans over the seat, shouts “Follow that perp”, and points. I whisper “What the fuck?” to myself. Because said perp, with his top hat and spectacles—riding a Lime scooter—is a dead-ringer for James Whitcomb Riley. I pull out, follow him west on Mass Ave. Because I’ve seen this movie before, I know why Pacino’s hot on Riley’s trail. That is, Pacino suspects the pious poet of killing gay men in flagrante delicto. What’s more, he wants to get naked with the poet to bait him into attempted murder. “You’re on the wrong track,” I tell the actor. I explain that Riley, author of “The Ol’ Swimming Hole” and assorted pap, is no perp. I tell him that Eadweard Muybridge—who murdered his wife’s lover and got away with it—is a more likely suspect for foul play. Pacino says nothing in response, so I don’t push it. We’re following Riley all the way across town on West St. to the JW Marriott where he sets down his scooter and where I pull to a stop. As Pacino exits the vehicle, I catch Peyton Manning in the rearview. Teeth bared, his fingers like a vise around Andrew Luck’s neck.