Lost and Found

Sounds of the Battery floated up to my room on the 11th floor. Lories carrying the morning produce to market lumbered below on the streets. Garbage cans were emptied by boisterous men who rode the outside of garbage trucks and tossed the cans as far as they could down the curb, banging thunderously and shouting at each other at the top of their lungs. Why is it they have to make so much noise at the break of dawn while good folk try to sleep in their beds? Traffic began to build, first slowly, and then as streets clogged, impatient drivers resorted to futile honking. Nothing moves slower than a car in downtown Boston. With the onset of daylight I had hoped my spirits would improve. But as sunlight filtered through the curtains, I felt no better. This was going to be a long day.

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