Apparently, what you do there is you lie on the grass as though time is on your side. You supply the dialogue to a family dynamic you are witnessing from afar. Then you take a stroll, attracted by strains of a festival taking place by a sea of stone steps. You take your place on of the steps and laugh at hippies letting their hair down to the disco beats.
Even Murphy wanted us to be there it seems, since everything that could go right, did. Our hotel was right smack in the heart of Boston's charm. We figured out their subway system quickly, without headaches. And, we were right under the spectacular fireworks by the harbor, as Boston Pops!
Two questions though: Where the fuck is Mike's Pastry Shop and who the heck is Charlie?
Nonetheless, to bastardize Key's song, Let's hear it for Bos-ton, Bos-ton...these streets will make you feel brand new...
