Spies in Boston

We walk hand in hand through the tight streets. The magic in the North End seems to rise from the granite slab sidewalks, our foot falls releasing it all as we ever so slowly grind down the grooves carved into their surface so long ago.

She is wearing a skirt, which seldom happens away up north on our island home. Shhh. She is blending in with the fabric of the city.

Passing for Urban.

We walk briskly, with purpose. Not ogling the old brick facades like so many, but stealing glimpses from the corner of the eye, remembering details to discuss later over the privacy of our dinner table.

We are not tourists with fanny packs and cameras on straps. Not obvious with outsized hats and backpacks bulging with swag. We pass like spies, changing our manner, moving like locals and step around the knots of lost sight seers ‘till we reach our goal:

“Two cannoli, please.


7 Responses

  1. I’ll be the spy in Boston this week too – Wednesday evening to Sunday when I go back to Iceland 🙂

  2. What!? You’re in Boston?! Aw, man! I wish I could come down and say “Hello” and buy you a Cannoli. When do you leave?


  3. Sunday evening – would be great to meet up!

  4. I like visiting cities who are passing acquaintances. It’s like be almost at home, but without the relatives.

  5. passing as natives, huh?
    Did you get stopped for directions? This happens to me in most places I visit and always makes me feel that the camouflage had worked, he he…

    • Heh! Nope. No directions, but we do get asked where to eat sometimes. It’s a tough question to answer. Do we do the right thing and tell them about our little known gems or do we direct them to the tourist-o-matic downtown?

      Since Karma has a brutal sense of humor, we tend to be good. 🙂


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