So I went to Boston and I saw my good friend and we drank wine and smoked weed and watched Wildboyz and walked the Freedom Trail and sat in Faneuil Hall and it was rainy and freezing on June fucking 6th and I ate Papa John's pizza for the first time in months and I was drunk for two whole days and I had my first cup of clam chowder hot and filling, soaked wet and cold in historic fucking Beantown. And I saw Harvard and we watched Contact and we stayed in the city of Gardner, which, for those who don't know me or know only my first name -or maybe even only my supersexyselfassignedpseudonym, Snakeboy- is my surname. Gardner. The Chair City. The Furniture Capital of New England.


 

And the party was long and full of food and the family was hospitable and kind and its all so vague and fuzzy already but I know I had a hell of a fucking good time and I know I miss my good friend Adam. The hairy fucker.

There.

The Boston Post.

Fucking Done.