Anyone who has lived in New York, I suspect, finds Boston to be unbelievably … tidy. New York is a city where respectable upper class people have favorite graffiti artists. It’s also a place where you can hardly go a block without hearing an epithet or two. It’s salty. It’s grimey. (I once heard some comedian say that New York is the only city in the world where you have to say “Hey, that’s mine. Don’t pee on that.”) I’m sure Boston is like that to some degree too … it’s still life … but I have been here about 24 hours, but I drove around a little last night, through a dozen different neighborhoods. In every one of them everything seemed so tidy. I guess you’d call it gentrifed, but I’m not sure it was ever not like this. Just about everyone I saw seemed to have on something plaid, or something khaki, or most likely both.
It would be funny if it weren’t so sad. (Do the streets of Boston really have to reek of vomit to not qualify as “gentrified” and “tidy”?) Actually, it’s funny anyway. In any event, help out poor Henry by telling him where he should drive around next time — apparently, he didn’t venture far from Charles Street on his first try.