Boston in the Fall

Probably the top reason I enjoy being in school is fall break. A beautiful, glorious two days of not class in the middle of our already pretty short fall quarter, and I got to spend it doing almost nothing on my parents’ couch in Boston.

Boston and I don’t have a great relationship, mainly because I hate it and it took my parents away from Ohio, but it’s growing on me. I still think the accent is fake, but when you see stuff like this:


from atop the massive boulder in my parents’ yard, how could New England not grow on you? It’s impossible to stop it. End of story.

Additionally, contrary to the belief held by everyone (read: me), Bostonians are super nice. Yes, the northeastern part of this country is generally more gruff personality-wise than other places (I’m from New York, I can say that). But when you look underneath that surface layer of no-bullshit-itis, there’s a kindness that is distinctively not fake. And you know it’s not fake, because there’s no way they would pretend to like you if they didn’t.


We went to Head of the Charles again. I finished a book. We drank a lot of beer. I saw my Noodle dog. It was glorious.

Best last fall break ever.





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