Self-Portrait in a Hotel Stairwell, Portland, Maine

Drinking On the Freedom Trail

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         Boston is the most American city I’ve ever seen. Brownstones everywhere, hundreds of years old, steeped in history. Meeting halls where the first whispers of revolution were uttered, and street corners where men were massacred for them. Boston even has its own Freedom Trail, a line of red bricks running through the city, passing notorious historical sites along the way. Its funny though, you have to pay to actually enter any of them. Doesn’t get more American than that. I stopped in the bars instead. That night I rode the MBTA alone, America’s oldest subway system. I shared the train with six drunk Irish girls and one discarded Four Loko can. As I frantically dug through my bag for the headphones I had forgotten, they began to sing sea shanties, through fits of sloshed laughter. As I had no one else to roll eyes with, I clapped along. I got off the train in Cambridge and met up with some friends. We went to a shitty dive nearby, where an entire wedding party was having a sloppy karaoke reception. The bar closed at midnight, so we crawled up on a rooftop instead. When in Boston.

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Josh Behind the Service Bar

from the shaker life series