Occasionally, I forget why I live here. And that I once loved it like an ant loves a picnic. Occasionally, when I am ensconced in my sleeping bag coat, and 19 layers of clothes, and boots that could stomp out a small Italian village, and I want to kill mother nature and all her kin, all the while craving carbs, I completely go blank about what makes Boston a slam dunk place to live.
Well, here’s a reminder. File that under Love That Dirty Water.