Roughly nine million of our friends had children over the past year, which means that our annual east coast swing has become a bit of a baby meet-and-greet.
It’s such a burden, let me tell you, what with their endearing little smiles and their… well… their HATS.
We’re trying to eat our way through as much of the town as we can in a few short days. I met up with the gents earlier for a requisite trip to the Coolidge Corner Clubhouse, where we spent many post-college evenings, and where I developed my abiding love for buffalo chicken.
Oh, buffalo chicken…
With time to kill before lunch, I wandered over to the old apartment. Five of us lived there for three years; it saw us through grad school, law school and first jobs. It held up well beneath games of living room basketball and parties, and played host to countless games of Hearts. Maggie showed up at the back door of this apartment, then a skinny stray with a gash under her chin and a fang missing.
So the place is fairly thick with memories.
I was standing in front of the three-flat, staring up at the top floor balcony like a house inspector giving the place a once over, when a car pulled up next to me. It was one of my old roommates, apparently bent on a little nostalgia as well – though he claimed to be looking for parking.
Good to see you again, Boston – looks like we got here just in time for the flower show.
