A Night Out at Felipe's


Friday was my 23rd birthday. I got up and pulled clothes from a suitcase on the floor, ate a banana, made coffee, and went off to Haverhill. The day went by alright, although I wish there was more time in a day. With each passing year, the old saying of 'not enough hours in a day' gets all the more real. After work, I went home and made some calls. Ally and I went to Mike's in Davis square and then we took the T into Boston. The bars by the north end were packed. We kept our distance. It was a ridiculous sight. The sea of drunk strangers walking in silly strides across town was an indication to me that the pandemic is approaching some sort of end. We walked to Winthrop lane to see some brass bricks, but we found that the artistically crafted bricks had been removed due to nearby construction. Next, we walked to the skinniest house in Boston, it's about 12 feet wide and three stories tall packed between brownstone walkups. It was a funny sight. Usually we only go to this part of town for Bova's bakery. We see a little bit more of this town each time we go out.

The next day, we unpacked and cleaned more. The apartment is sort of a mess. I guess the landlord vacuumed and repainted? It's hard to tell. There are paint marks on all sorts of stuff there should not be paint marks. It seems everyone in this town is going at life as fast as they can, one has to worry about the attention to detail... Ally and I replaced some wall plates and made a grocery trip. Afterwards, we met up with some friends in Harvard square to get food and drinks at Felipe's Taqueria. It was Conrad's birthday and we had a swell time. We walked back to a friend of Conrad's place in Central square to play games and then head home. A weird thing happened to us as we walked back to the T. A drunk couple started talking to us about a steakhouse. They seemed quite far gone and very adamant about the quality of this particular steakhouse. I had a hard time keeping a straight face as they went on and on in slurred speech. I hope they got home alright.

This encounter reminded me of an article in the Atlantic

One of many half-fixes in the new apartment... an incorrectly used bolt in place of where a wood screw should be.

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