phik

After three weeks away, despite your best intentions, you start to accumulate books and DVDs, little trinkets and baubles. My bag was crammed so full today that I very nearly had to deploy the asshole inch, that extra zipper on the suitcase that transforms your bag from ever so slightly inappropriate to a full and complete violation of any purported carry-on size policy.

But I’m sure those rules don’t refer to me; they’re for everyone else.

As the locals know, every night, for reasons beyond mortal comprehension, route 93 is closed between the Big Dig and Storrow, inclusive. So it was no surprise when we exited the Sumner tunnel and there were two state troopers parked to block the entrance to 93. What was a surprise was when my taxi drove all the way over onto the left shoulder to get around them, and proceeded without a care onto 93 north. Surprise was transformed into shock when the state troopers, clearly too engrossed in their conversation to bother, didn’t move a muscle, and we just drove off.

As everyone has always suspected, me foremost among them, there is absolutely nothing happening on route 93 all night. Not a sausage. As far as we could tell, it’s closed for absolutely no fucking reason.

Anyways, about that little move, let me tell you, I was impressed, particularly because the taxi drivers never know how to get to my house if 93 is closed. It made up for the fact that he refused to go above 45 mph on the highway because gas is so expensive.