Short list of things I have seen on Cambridge Street while walking to and from work this month:
- A man wheeling a 25-pound sack of MSG into a restaurant.
- A woman who looked like she’d just been released from MGH, sitting in a doorway, picking listlessly at the bandages around her wrists.
- A man in scrubs who looked like he’d just gotten off work, ducking into a Beacon Hill doorway to drink from a tall-boy in a paper bag.
- A brown late-80s Chevy station wagon in the early stages of being converted to donk awesomeness: The body was ugly but rust-free, the vinyl interior was badly cracked, and the owner had installed enormous speakers and even more enormous chrome wheels (22 inches at least).
- A Ducati 1098 S piloted by a man wearing khakis and sneakers, who took both hands off the handlebars while moving to adjust his gloves. Contrary to all rules of schadenfreude and justice, he didn’t drop it.