Boston (A Sample Post)

I arrived home in a bit of a mess. I quickly showered. I was shocked to discover that my skin tone visibly lightened. I put a Red Sox hat on my wet hair and went to Fenway Park. Breathing in the sweet aroma of my drunk Irish brethren, I felt at peace with the world. Watching Manny Ramirez turn on an inside fastball didn't hurt either. Coming home from the game, with my eyes at half mast, I couldn't help but notice the verdant greens of New England seemed extra bright, as though flushed with victory. My father burst my bubble.

"Its been raining a fucking shitload," he said demurely.

Unfazed I went home and fell asleep, still in my jeans. I awoke the next day looking for Victor but Victor was no where to be found. Only my dog remained in the house, sniffing the lonely corners of the living room. The three thousand miles of the previous night's flight came back to me in a rush. The distance. The sense of loss. The fat man with a cheetos mustache.

I began to wonder what it truly meant to be home.