Boston's winter is miserable. Winter is a frigid, castrating bitch, tapping your soul, draining all joy straight from your marrow.
Melodramatic maybe, but entirely non-fiction.
Unfortunately it is because of days like today that I don't feel justified in shitting all over Boston, discussing her flaws, etc. Because spring in Boston is beautiful. I get an erection just thinking about the beauty.
The Bros are out to play ultimate frisbee, the Hos are out to display cleavage, the hobos are always out being crazy, etc. How can you get enough? You just can't. Though I must say, Bag Pipe Lady...you have to stop. How many notes did you hit? I think all of them.
I'm going to do a piece on musicians of Boston. Let's see, there's the schizophrenic Accordion player of Hanover, the Old Man Accordion player of Caffe something-or-other (both of whom only play the Godfather theme). Then there's "Boston's Best Erhu Player 2008!" That's the Chinese gentlemen who sits in the Park Street T stop. The one playing off-key. The wide-eyed one who looks like he hasn't slept in days. Then there's the elderly gentleman who sings Beatles tunes at Government Center. Oh God, the list goes on!
That's enough for now. Long and short of it, spring in Boston is way better than Winter. El Fin.
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