Just departing now for home after a visit to my friend Toad. As usual, he was charming, fun, and the perfect companion for a summer night out. He arrived in his white linen suit, purple checked shirt, pocket square, and with an appetite for steaks, drinks, and cigars. After a great dinner, we strolled the town's sidewalks to a large outdoor cafe where a roomy fountain didn't help the hot evening air. Jackets remained on even in the heat, happily achieving a patina of gin and cigars. Thanks again, Toad. It was perfect.
Sometimes, I can't help it. I overthink.
Yes, be sure to pack those boxing gloves carefully. They aren't made to sustain any sort of regular repeated impact at all.
This is outside of a Boston rare coin dealer. I thought it was a Yankee dating service for lonely social climbers in New England.
If your lastname starts with "X" or "Q", you are in luck. Embossed cards are now 75% off. Supply and demand, I suppose.
In New Hampshire, I drove past this business. Party AND industrial-grade clean-up supplies in the same building? They must have read my mind.
On the subway in Boston, a poster invites us to visit western Massachusetts, but only if we dress like bong-sucking garage band groupies. Notice how the parasol compliments his tie-dye and her sloppy fray-cuffed jeans. Apologies to the ghost of Mr. Choate.