Harvard/cars/yards

Boston = the cruller in the T station; the chocolate chip cannoli that you somehow knew to order; street vendor blood roses; the bridge with that graffiti about that Smoot guy; the headstones (with poems — the one about how you don’t need to please anyone when you’re dead); I can paint from memory; you can find new shiny sneakers; these are my new pink pimped-out sunglasses; so far gone in an Irish pub with two pints of Guinness; we have no intention but just to wander; concentrated history in a glass.

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