Boston: 2

L’Aquitaine has a Restaurant Week menu and I try a red dessert wine.  We’re in South Side and we’ve just had a few drinks at the Beehive.  Live jazz begins and we can’t get a table.  I speak to the girl to my left, and to my right.  At the meal, a fellow publisher makes a joke and everyone takes it too seriously.  I go to the toilet and try to send a text message.  It is humorous and little sad in equal measure, the lengths to which I go.  I think of the Belgian who owes me a Facebook message reply and of the girl from near Manchester who sounded to all intents and purposes like a Blue Peter presenter.  That was last Summer.  This is Spring and it is Boston.

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