My arm is sore from the flu shot, and I was coming down with a cold in the morning. By the end of the day, I was certainly sick. I switched from Orange Line to Blue, my first time riding on that line. It's clean and new-ish, which I suppose is why people are in love with it. I got off the train in unfamiliar territory, East Boston, at the Maverick stop. After walking a few blocks to a large brick artist's collective, I helped a lady carry boxes of Boston 4 Bernie materials up the stairs and into a funky-looking studio. Art was randomly scattered around the room, with chairs, couches and cushions all around, and wide glass windows with an ocean view. It was at the strange intersection of lived in, worked in, and loved in, like the dive in Allston where I saw Paul Baribeau.
The meeting itself was ultra-grassroots, a collection of mainly older citizens, with a good number retired or disabled, and therefore able to put in 30-hour weeks of volunteering. Johnny came as well, and after a discussion of upcoming plans, the two of us took off. We picked up slices at Crazy Dough on Tremont, which I can't recommend. (I didn't know it was a chain until after...) The Rangers spoiled Chicago's home opener, the Sharks clowned the Kings, and I correctly predicted a fight in the Canucks/Flames game.
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