Journal

Boston, Massachusetts

Chocolate chip cookies for breakfast and two mugs of Albert Dragon's famed cafe. It was the perfect way to start a Friday. The weather was cold, but sunny. Justin and I hauled our (six) bags up the vintage elevator shaft and shuffled into a cozy one bedroom on the fifth floor of an apartment complex in downtown Boston. I swapped my heels for converse chucks and we buried ourselves beneath a collection of winter accessories before venturing out onto the streets, to the Boston T. $2.50 metro ride to Carney stop near John Hancock, Newbury Street, and some of the best shopping I've ever seen. I rarely ever buy anything, given my homeless status, though I can still appreciate the aesthetics of a shopper's shangri-la.

We walked by stacked brick shops frosted in Christmas decor; resisted aromas of freshly brewed lattes and gourmet cupcake boutiques. We wandered as far as the Museum of Science, through the Boston public garden, across a frozen pond and along Charles Street. The temperature dropped, and so we ducked into Sevens Pub for New England clam chowder and a few drinks. It was just the right amount to fuel our short walk to Casa Romero for a dinner reservation with the Dragon entourage. I settled for four margaritas, a flight of whiskey and the fajita house special. It was a goodly amount. We walked together to Yard House, lost a few hours, and tiptoed home two by two until the five of us and one massive Italian mastiff were tucked in for the night.

When we awoke, it was still dark outside. I showered, sipped on one last glorious cup of Dragon cafe, then left for the airport. For JFK. Then to Monterey.