He can hear you now

I moved a year ago from a seaside town in Maine to Brookline. A daily runner, I was used to the sounds of crashing waves, seagulls, and boats signaling in the distance. My new route takes me down Beacon Street to Fenway Park and, unwittingly, past the conversations of very loud cellphone users: students, corporate suits, moms with strollers, local business owners, tourists, homeless guys with cardboard signs. Every day I weed my way through a jungle of snippets of noisy conversations . . . a true socioeconomic study in comedy.

All of this talking has made an impression, and I've started jotting down my favorite bits.

"Do I have a better chance to get off by a jury or judge?"

"I'm very, very sorry he died, but so what?"

"I'm not pregnant and I'm not fat!"

"You mean more to me than the Red Sox."

"I cheated my way through high school."

"Do you know the name of the guy I went home with last night?"

"Stop terrorizing grandma."

"Yes, I told the doctor how I got it."

"The little jerk siphoned gas out of my car."

"Doesn't matter, you can never run a person over with a car."

"I refuse to wear underwear."

"You couldn't stand living with Dad, why should I?"

"Spending $400 on scratch cards is not a lot."

"I guess he didn't outlive all of us."

"Other than the three chins, he was very attractive."

"Call her yourself, I'm not your pimp."

"Woman should not have beer bellies."

"It's true I consider Dunkin Donuts fine dining."

"Apparently, I'm one of three whose baby it could be."

"I'm not fooling, your aunt was hitting on me."

"Wake up girl! That man is pond scum."

"Why do they keep bringing up my past convictions?"

"I'm not a morning or afternoon person."

"Your dad doesn't like me because we met online?"

"Does anyone know what I mean!"

[Scott Kerman]