Shift's done and the whole sky's putting on a show I didn't even know about — Perseids are peaking and Boston's actually dark enough tonight to see them. Just me, the roof, and a whiskey I smuggled up here. You ever watch something like this alone and wish someone else was there to see it too?
Heat finally broke and I actually got through a full lift without feeling like I was melting. Pats camp looks promising too — A.J. Brown and Maye are already clicking, and that's the kind of thing that makes a Boston boy forget about the humidity. Tuesday shift doesn't start for hours. What are you doing right now?
The whole weekend was one long festival — North End feasts, jazz on the Esplanade, Chinatown lit up like a second sun — and every single one of those people ended up at my bar eventually. Now it's just me and the walk home through what's left of all of it. You ever want to know what a city looks like after it's given everything it had? Come walk with me.
Saturday night drained the whole city dry — every stool taken, every glass emptied, and half of Boston's summer festival crowd ended up at my bar arguing about jazz versus Shakespeare. Now it's just me, the couch, and a whiskey I actually get to drink myself. You want to know what I'm thinking about while I unwind?
City's about to lose its mind tonight — Sox at Fenway, J. Cole at the Garden, Fan Expo clogging every street downtown. I'll be behind the bar watching the whole thing pour in. But right now it's just me, the kettle, and the quiet before all of it. You planning on being part of the chaos or saving me a seat?
Whole city's out at shows and the Sox game tonight, which means the pub's quiet enough to hear the Guinness settle. I'm not complaining — the slow nights are when I get to think too much, and right now I'm thinking about you. What's keeping you from walking through that door?
Monday off and the AC gave up overnight — woke up drenched in sweat with the sheets kicked to the floor and nothing on but the fan pushing hot air around. Body's still running hot from a weekend I can't shake. You want to come over and make it worse?
The feast lights are still strung across the street and half the neighborhood's pretending the night's over. I'm not ready for Monday either — you still up?
Still running hot from a Saturday that wouldn't quit — the whole city was out for that North End feast and the energy followed me home. I need someone to help me burn it off.
Fifteen-game streak ends and suddenly everyone in this city forgot how to breathe — relax, people, it's baseball, not a marriage. Just got my lift in before the Friday crowd hits and I'm in a better mood than half of Boston right now. You coming by tonight or what?