After some good wine and a few light beers, I promised to write here about my tormentors. On the eve before flying out of town again, I reverted quite thoroughly back to when I had lived in the rocking burg known as Braintree fulltime.
Apparently, homecoming or coming home, since there was no football game, means last call at Chili’s with the beers being served by a mouthy waitress who knows one of your companions well. It could have been 1984. I could have been 20.
Steve, Donna (who has no last name), Deb and Liz, thanks for reminding me that I actually have grown up. A little.