I am on the Green Line toward Allston and writing about it.
I am in a neighborhood sports bar with the same name as my favorite U2 album, watching the Celtics game, and drinking cheap beer. On credit.
I am in a bedroom that is also a kitchen, and a living room, and an office.
I am in a pile of wet leaves, on a corner, pulling a fold-over sandwich bag over my hand like a glove.
Read Karen’s lovely story here. (We are also guessing that the bar is called Joshua Tree?)