People of Boston: Part 9/Conclusion

Almost no one in Boston has the time to stop and chat. Everyone’s rushing to their lunch break, back to work, to the game, meeting someone, catching a train (“but watch out, they’re heavy!”), or getting to the airport. The exceptions are usually teenagers, foreigners on vacation, or crazy people (speaking of which, I met an Asian guy who told me in broken English that blood should be produced in factories because taking blood donations from people is against the ‘Law of Nature’…or something to that effect).

In the end you don’t really remember the people who were irritated. You remember the ones you had meaningful conversations with. I even met some people during lunch or after work.

I must have talked to at least some undercover operatives, world leaders, master thieves, terrorists, famous artists, etc. And if it is true that everyone in the world is connected to everyone else by 4 handshakes, then I must be connected with more than half the world by now. My name tag prohibited me from using an alias, so there must be hundreds of people who have gone home and told their friends or loved ones about how John and his fellow professional fundraisers hooligans mercilessly tried to solicit them while they were innocently trying to buy a cup of coffee.

Speaking of which, I drank what I believe to be my fifth and sixth cups of coffee during this summer. Not to mention Red Bull, which despite several rumors is actually legally sold pretty much everywhere (though obviously, that doesn’t mean they’re a superb idea).

Every day I would walk up out of the train station on State Street to face statues of the Irish immigrants who fled An Gorta Mór for a better life. There are two statues, each depicting a man, woman, and a boy. In one scene the family is destitute and hungry, with looks of despair on their faces. The other shows the three standing tall and proud, ready to handle any struggle that comes their way. Pigeon droppings complete the entire scene, with homeless people feeding them while taking breaks from yelling at each other, and tourists checking their maps and taking pictures.

An Gorta Mor 1 An Gorta Mor 2

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