Website: Boston T Parties
By the time I left work last night, it had stopped raining. The air was somewhere between sultry and humid and it clanged with voices, the way summer nights in cities are supposed to. It’s about a mile from my office to the T in Porter Square, and because the night had muted the endless mini-strip malls, gas stations, and crumbling row houses lining Somerville Ave, I didn’t mind the walk. In fact, I liked it enough to keep going, past Porter and into Harvard Square, where the brick and cream and green gleamed and even the panhandlers seemed at ease.
And then the brick swapped out for Inman and Central Square’s wood and plastic and throngs of people spilling out of The Middle East and All Asia and a plump little man in sky blue polyester chasing a group of middle aged men in grimy sweatshirts, and a boy carrying a banjo met a girl carrying a bottle of Yellowtail and a black artist’s folder, and when they kissed “bohemian like you” played in my head. A sprightly song to walk to.
In Kendall Square there were alot of backpacks and cargo shorts and wire-rimmed glasses and I wondered if their wearers could tell I wasn’t one of them. And then I was crossing the Charles and I paused to take several beyond-awful photos of a city that, at night and from a distance, is made for taking photos of. The buildings stuck out black and flashing gold and red against the plummy murk and the Citgo sign beamed, subsided, beamed again. Outside Berkely, a group of boys in yellow tee-shirts banged on djembes and a pair of angular white girls danced. And suddenly I was tired and clumped quickly down boylston until I hit Copely, and after a quick admiring glance at Trinity Church, hopped on the B for home.
And more at:
[Boston T Parties]
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