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— Eye on Everett —

Although we do not believe it is necessary, from time to time we like to remind the readers of this column that Josh Resnek having a friendship with a cloth blue suit is all about political satire on the one hand, and the art of fiction on the other.

For those of you who don’t believe this, find a blue cloth suit and try having a conversation with it. Try patting it on the back, or dining with it at Kelly’s or at Oliveira’s or make the attempt at discussing local politics and the secrets the Blue Suit claims to hold.

Try walking around Everett Square with a cloth blue suit, that is, the Blue Suit when he runs into admirers and they ask for his autograph or give him a high five.

The Blue Suit, as the British might tend to put it, is a one off. He’s a one of a kind who came off the rack at a lesser store but who is descended from very fancy parents – a father who was handmade and a mother who was a Gucci dress.

How he ended up in Everett is the stuff made of dreams, and of fiction. The caveat with the Blue Suit is that he sounds so convincing and so self assured and so so hungry for food all of the time!

This week, the Blue Suit and I (Josh Resnek) discuss the upcoming primary taking place next Tuesday.

He asked me to title this piece, “I had a dream.”


“I had a dream, Josh, about the primary. Let me tell you all about the dream because it was so vivid and lifelike in every way. I was hanging inside the closet where I live on Abbott Street when I awakened. I had to pinch myself the dream seemed so real,” he said to me.

“What did you see in your dream? Was your dream in color?” I asked him.

“It was like being at the movies and watching actors performing on the big screen,” he answered.

“It really blew my mind,” he added.

“What exactly blew your mind as you like to say?” I asked him. He cleared his throat and moved about a bit as we drove in my car around the city checking things out.

“I saw the results before the primary has taken place. How’s that for a dream when you’re me, or anyone, for that matter!” he said with energy and more than a bit of wonder.

“I know who won and I know who lost a good week before the primary is taking place. How’s that for looking into the future?” he wondered aloud. “I don’t know anyone who can do this but me.”

“You’re right about that,” I said to him.

“You are the only person I have ever know who can make such predictions before the votes have been cast. If you were into making money, you could make a small fortune locally out of betting on such predictions being true. After all, who’d believe that a cloth blue suit like yourself can predict the outcome of political campaigns!”

“So tell me,” I asked him. “Are you going to level with me about your dream?”

“Yes I am, Josh. But frankly, I feel a bit uptight making public the results before voters have had the chance to cast their ballots. There’s something not right about that. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’d say that’s an ethical question that maybe we shouldn’t discuss this…but then…I’d really like to know what’s in the future before we get there. That would be breaking new territory here in Everett, wouldn’t it?” I asked him.

The Blue Suit thought about this for moment.

“I’ll tell you what, Josh. Let’s drive to Kelly’s by Wellington Circle. Buy me two lobster rolls and a large chowder, a Vanilla shake and two orders of fries, and I just might let you in on the secrets I hold,” he suggested.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you are blackmailing me!” I said to the Blue Suit.

“Do I deserve such treatment from someone I’ve been so generous to for almost three years?” I asked him.

“Call it blackmail. Call it what you want. You want results before the balloting, you’ll have to pay me, Josh – but with food and not with money.”

At Kelly’s we sat in a window seat watching the traffic speed by. The Blue Suit was hounded by autograph seekers flocking to the table, patting him on the back, high fiving with him, exchanging laughs and some people taking selfies with him, which by the way, ended up all over the Internet.

He devoured his lobster rolls and French fries. He inhaled the thick vanilla shake. He let out a loud burb, the clapper he’s famous for.

“OK buddy. Let’s go. Let’s have your secrets,” I asked him. “Tell me who won and who lost the primary,” I said to him.

The Blue Suit hesitated.

“You’re not reneging, are you?” I asked.

“Yeah, Josh. I changed my mind.”

“After all,” he added, “what can you expect from an off the rack cloth blue suit?”

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