A block or two from where the Red Sox play there is a restaurant called Eastern Standard. For some reason I always assumed Middle East, so I was expecting spices, delicious flat breads, Turkish coffee. I sometimes forget I am not in the Midwest anymore or even on the west coast. I am on the East coast. So Eastern Standard would be the standard of the east coast. Which it was. I ordered a a toasted bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon. It was enormous and I wished one could save salmon for left over because I would have had a small breakfast the next day with the amount of fish they heaped on that bagel!
As I was sitting there devouring my fish we started talking about roommates. What it was like to live in a crammed room of four or a giant house of five. How we…
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