It’s the fall of 1984. I’m 13 years old and in adolescent purgatory. All I can do is wait to get older. I’m stuck in the suburbs when I know for a fact I’m meant to be living in the city. Boston is the city I know best and where we (my mother, brother and I) moved from 5 years ago. I wish we could move back. New York would be even better. In NY I could learn all the real hoodlum tricks. But it’s not to be, at least not for now. I’m stuck living in the sticks. Continue reading “Everything Means a Lot…”
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