recycling Boston

this time last year i was in Boston, en route to Vermont, oblivious to the imminent perils of border crossing bus stops. the days that followed taught me many things, among them the tastiness of pumpkin seeds, and the importance of cutting broccoli lengthwise to prevent the onset of flatulence. but this is beside the point.

the point is:

Boston is like... waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the train to stop, transfers from green to orange and ice cream parlor experiments.

Boston is like... flirting in art galleries, trying to impress Stephanie Schneider with out of print paperbacks and vegetarian meals in Chinatown.

Boston is like... cannoli and cappuccino with a handful of Hanover holdovers sandwiched between the sandwich shops, guided through the North End by the social security Irish of Arch Street, and whispering confessions to St. Anthony about where the bodies are buried.

Boston is like... thronging south on Newbury Street in chic boutiques and sliding velvet walls, falling in love with girls on sofas, long talks with Mardou in the park, dodging weddings, and avoiding the marbled gaze in the courtyard shade of the library, longing for my pen.