FLASH: Google Maps

When the Google Maps car, with all those cameras fixed to the roof, passed by, I waved. Google me. I'm there in my Levi's jacket, standing in the yard at 30 Mulberry Fields. Every day now I google 30 Mulberry. Every day I attend my image.

I like to imagine the elderly me tapping the chip in my head, and returning to this picture, that jacket. I feel satisfied with this daydream, of old Mulberry, and young me.

But I know my idle there on the lawn won't be forever; some year Google will pull another drive by, and erase me from their virtual world, this grandiose art installation they've made the earth.

And that fact has so obsessed me that I have taken to stalking the Google cars. I pick my spots. 

McDonalds isn't going away; I'm there by the dumpster in a grey hoodie. 

I'm there at the Chemlsford Walmart in snow pants. 

I'm at the crosswalk out front of a Route Nine liquor store, Worcester - columns of Heineken kegs unloaded behind me.

I am the ghost. I have a spread sheet of my haunts. One of these doppelgängers must survive me.