Tourist Point Of View

I love traveling with Maria and the boys. I also love being on my own. If not for the first preference, I would opt for the second more- where an ice cream sandwich is not 1/3 of a desert, crossing the street means not being on Spidey-senses alert, and entertaining anyone else is not a concern. I am my own best audience; maniacally laughing across Boston Common. And as I walked these New England streets, free time built around the most splendid wedding of Allison and John, I felt as if I was skipping across town.

Living out on the West Coast you can forget how old old can be, and man, Ben Franklin and Paul Revere are old dudes. They existed here. Hark, me. I engaged some of that revelry but it was strolling, just strolling that got me rolling.
Coffee, pizza slices and books and records on Newbury, neon bowling pins at Kings, an attempt to ask Pat Benatar to sign Allison and John's wedding invitation that did not quite pan out (damn those militaristic Borders personnel!), sitting outside munching on tasty crunchy veggies at sunlight. Peace was found. The only time that existed was wedding time, morning and night.

The most dangerous place was the lobby of my fancy hotel, where I sat in the middle of some drunk young men with the women of UFC fans, who when the men would not heed their warning about their mates, warned that they would do this themselves. Please note that all of them had no connection with the wedding party.


I also got to commiserate with someone working at a coffee shop wearing a Giants cap. A fan, in Boston. Sympathies, empathy, man hug.