… the boy asks, huddled inside his Red Sox sweatshirt.
In his nostalgic longing for Massachusetts, he always always ALWAYS forgets how freaking cold it is up here.
In other news, a road crew has set up across the street, and we are now being serenaded by the sound of a jackhammer. One guy working, seven guys standing around, watching.
“What are they doing?” I ask the boy.