Leaving loss loboston

The daisy car sped away and I was left on the sidewalk with a backpack, teardrops and tight pants that screamed ‘English tourist, mug me’. But I was not. Proceeding across the bridge by foot. held my head high looking up and ahead at the Boston skyline and sun shimmering on the water, almost an inversion of the moonlit dam lake I drank earlier in the week in Connecticut.

The streets suddenly became familiar at the end of the bridge and I successfully remembered exactly how to get to all the places I wanted to. My will was weak as I passed another record store and parted with more dollars, and the guilt of not sending my parents a postcard garnished my fingertips as I waited in line ten minutes at the post office for a stamp, just so they could get a US postmark, even if they see me before it.

I wrote the card in the park, sat in front of the swan boat lake. The swans had all migrated to a big warehouse somewhere for the winter, but the Monetesque bridge and willows a weeping made up for them in their beauty, and lacking of plasticness the swans yield. Dozens of squirrels scampered mischievously across the lawns and up the tree trunks, I almost called out to them, thinking I was on dog lane, location of much John and Kris squirrel chasing, but stopped myself when I considered the stares of white sneakered business women, jogging in their lunch hours. There was one poor little blighter who had no tail, and all the others were chasing him around the park and biting his stumpy butt. After a swift dream at the alter of the ice skating rink at the frog pond, I slipped away from the green and towards the grey.

In the town centre I spent yet more money and bought some cheap boots for playing in, so I can save my sole for office hours. My final Bostonian port of call was the aquarium (after a final bagel at quincy market, I am growing a cape and will change in a phone booth to become dough boy, I am sure of it.) at dusk. I sat and watched the seals playing in a large glass tank outside the aquarium itself. There were three of them, splashing and rolling around in the turquoise waters sheathed in glass. One of them bobbed by the glass and stared me straight in the eyes with his big black glistening orbs. It was so calming to see them in a city centre, unaffected (seemingly) by the skyscraped chaos around them.

Finally it was t time and I travelled the lengthly distance of two stops to the airport, where I waited forever for my plane, but at least got a window seat. The flight was only six hours, and enjoyable apart from the fact I fainted four times on board (probable alcohol inspired dehydration) and awoke literally in the toilet, before collapsing again on my way back to my seat. I awoke to find some English guy cradling my head on his legs and the stewards fussing over me, somewhere along the fall I also banged my head on a seat somewhere. Oh well, hit happens.

At least the view of London flying in was spectacular, I could make out all the streets and monuments from the air as we descended on a city unnaturally swathed in sunlight, and reduced grey. Arriving wearily at Heathrow, I rolled out to the tube where I was whisked home to the house of J, some washing, a light nap and some tea. I even managed a spot of playstationing.

Now I have the fun of more dough, in the form of doughnuts, and I think there is a tear in my cape as I leap towards next week......

John from England.




Boston de-party- Fall 1998
	After the golden fall follies...... The daisy car sped away and I was left on the sidewalk with a backpack, teardrops and tight pants that screamed ‘English tourist, mug me’. But I was not. Proceeding across the bridge by foot. held my head high looking up and ahead at the Boston skyline and sun shimmering on the water, almost an inversion of the moonlit dam lake I drank earlier in the week in Connecticut. The streets suddenly became familiar at the end of the bridge and I successfully remembered exactly how to get to all the places I wanted to. My will was weak as I passed another record store and parted with more dollars, and the guilt of not sending my parents a postcard garnished my fingertips as I waited in line ten minutes at the post office for a stamp, just so they could get a US postmark, even if they see me before it. I wrote the card in the park, sat in front of the swan boat lake. The swans had all migrated to a big warehouse somewhere for the winter, but the Monetesque bridge and willows a weeping made up for them in their beauty, and lacking of plasticness the swans yield. Dozens of squirrels scampered mischievously across the lawns and up the tree trunks, I almost called out to them, thinking I was on dog lane, location of much John and Kris squirrel chasing, but stopped myself when I considered the stares of white sneakered business women, jogging in their lunch hours. There was one poor little blighter who had no tail, and all the others were chasing him around the park and biting his stumpy butt. After a swift dream at the alter of the ice skating rink at the frog pond, I slipped away from the green and towards the grey. In the town centre I spent yet more money and bought some cheap boots for playing in, so I can save my sole for office hours. My final Bostonian port of call was the aquarium (after a final bagel at quincy market, I am growing a cape and will change in a phone booth to become dough boy, I am sure of it.) at dusk. I sat and watched the seals playing in a large glass tank outside the aquarium itself. There were three of them, splashing and rolling around in the turquoise waters sheathed in glass. One of them bobbed by the glass and stared me straight in the eyes with his big black glistening orbs. It was so calming to see them in a city centre, unaffected (seemingly) by the skyscraped chaos around them. Finally it was t time and I travelled the lengthly distance of two stops to the airport, where I waited forever for my plane, but at least got a window seat. The flight was only six hours, and enjoyable apart from the fact I fainted four times on board (probable alcohol inspired dehydration) and awoke literally in the toilet, before collapsing again on my way back to my seat. I awoke to find some English guy cradling my head on his legs and the stewards fussing over me, somewhere along the fall I also banged my head on a seat somewhere. Oh well, hit happens. At least the view of London flying in was spectacular, I could make out all the streets and monuments from the air as we descended on a city unnaturally swathed in sunlight, and reduced grey. Arriving wearily at Heathrow, I rolled out to the tube where I was whisked home to the house of J, some washing, a light nap and some tea. I even managed a spot of playstationing. Now I have the fun of more dough, in the form of doughnuts, and I think there is a tear in my cape as I leap towards next week...... John from England.


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