Little Italy

The first days are always the worst.

By three in the p.m., you just silently but suddenly zip off into a zombie mode. Your eyes mindlessly gaze towards the window, and you start wishing you were out there instead, or better yet, on your hotel bed miles away. But sunlight always brings about drowsiness (at least when you are an owl), and then you start tearing yourself apart inside while desperately trying to look interested, or even attentive, in the ongoing discussion.

I made it through the first day, but barely.

It ended a rather nice evening though, which I had almost missed when I tried to devise means and ways to get out of the group dinner. But I'm glad I had not the guts to.


So I made it downtown on my first night, thank God.

And I was brought to the Little Italy of Boston, right along Hanover Street in the North End. I fell in love with the street the minute the cab cruised into it. Just like how I remember I fell in love with the Little Italy of San Franscisco the first morning I strolled into it, amazed at all the little Italian cafes serving nothing but creamy lattes and fat, greasy pastries.

In Hanover Street of Boston though, there aren't that many Italian cafes. Instead, every other two steps you take, you walk by a "Something Something Ristorante". And word has it that you never find lousy food in Hanover Street.

The tiny little restaurant with an amazing seating capacity that I ended up in warmed my heart. It was so authentic I found it so romantic. By romantic, I don't mean I would die if I was being proposed to in that place. By romantic, I mean the atmosphere was so quaint and lovely you wished at that very moment you were there instead with a loved one to enjoy the beauty of life (and food).

Well, at least, that was how I felt when I first sat down at the table. After just a couple of whites, however, I was totally zombified. The only romantic notion I had running through my mind was to curl under the white sheets on the hotel bed, and cuddle all the fat pillows.

I made it through the first night, but barely.

I dozed off in the car ride back to the hotel. I took a shower, turned on the computer to start on work, but dozed off again till I had to peel myself off from my zzz monster to get the work completed.

But by then, the tonsils had swollen and the hotness had permeated the entire body.

I only hope I get past the second morning.

*****

I wandered off from the group to keep myself awake and tottered off onto the streets, enjoying the lovely breeze of the evening. I found myself unwittingly sitting down on a bench right next to two Boston lao bengs.

The first one, a fat botak with a thick chain and a fading tattoo on his fatass arm, smiled and offered me his dinner - a huge fatass crossiant. And I returned the smile and declined his offer.

The second one, a fatter dude with hair so scruffy he ought to consider turning botak too, went straight to the point.

"Are you looking for a husband?"

I laughed, and said, "No, thanks. Not really."

After a minute of silence, "So no boyfriend? No husband?"

"Yes. What kind of a world is this, yeah?"

He persisted with a greasy smile, "So are you sure you're not looking for a husband?"

"No, honey. When I am, I'll sure come back here."


I can sure connect with ah bengs anywhere in the world.

Ah Lian what, what to do.