Thursday, August 17, 2006

Thursday in Boston

It's one of those days that makes you glad to live in the Godless northeast, where you finally understand what John Updike was saying when he wrote in 1975:
Pistachio George sits high. July beds bloom./The Ritz's doorman sports his worn maroon./Above us like a nearer sky great Pei's/ glass sheet, cerulean, clasps clouds to its chest.



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