Alone In Cambridge

What, you might ask, am I doing in Cambridge, MA, wide awake — and maybe even slightly buzzed — at 1:27 a.m.? Four pints, Fox News, fig newtons, and Gatorade?

I left work at 4:30. My Acela Express — the Amtrak said to whisk one to Boston in three and a half hours — was late arriving, and departing, and… er, arriving. I got into Boston at 9:30, hopped the red line to Central Square, and pointed myself towards the Necco Wafer factory. Once checked into the Hotel MIT, I stepped out for a well-earned beer. Or four.

I met some lovely biotech types at The Ascandar, or some such-named Irish bar. I was just sitting watching tv, having a pint, and this lovely Scotch woman said hi. I made friends, and, well, hours later, the solo acoustic singer/songwriter guy was finishing up his set of covers, and it was last call. Of course, in Boston, that doesn’t take much. Last call, that is, is 1:00 a.m. (Darned Catholics.)

Anyway, I’m in town for a wedding. Former Smokey Junglefrog guitarist Jamie Dunphy is to wed former Smokey Junglefrog bassist Paul Perreault’s cousin Kara. Follow that? It’s a rocknroll wedding. It’s tomorrow, north of here in Lowell. I’ll be running along the Charles, and drinking much coffee before then.

But for now, it’s me, HBO, and Gatorade. And sweet memories of the sweet Scotch woman who told me I was ‘terribly cute.’

Geez, guess I blew that one.

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