It’s been a slow week here in Boston, and in NYC, no one is at work, well, practically no one, except for the road crews that have shut down, literally, two bridges and several main thoroughfares.
Up and down the streets, it’s quiet, you can hear an acorn drop. Families are hunched over T.V. sets in front of movies streaming in or, apparently, at homes and hotels in mountains and on the coast. In Dudley, Roxbury, where I work two mornings a week inside a busy welfare office, cars go by blaring delicious sounding rap music.
Speaking just for myself, I’ve been principally indoors: Finishing up a solid draft of a book on Indian-American culture, which is due at the publisher very soon. Putting in edits on a novel, which is due with an agent very soon also. And writing short pieces about food.
Of food, the good news is the $ saved by not eating meals out much. Sure, there is first rate BBQ at Sweet Cheeks; a tiny bun and three tablespoons of pork = $12. And bakeries galore; Clear Flour is as good as the best bakeries I’ve been anywhere, bar none. But dinners? Sure, before a concert or a Celtics game, a few places. A night out for dinner? Not in years.
Come September the town, and others like it, will liven up, and people will work with vigor. Until then it may be best to cogitate, sort of the summery version of being holed up in winter.