Can we ever really go home again?
When I was a kid (quit the wisecracks; I dyed the grey last night, and I will deny deny deny that they ever existed), it was a rite of passage to hang out in Harvard Square on a half-day from school. Time passes, and the after-school rambling, ear-piercing and music shopping (CDs? Nope, cassettes!) have been replaced with after-work drinking. Where once we gossiped about driver's ed and college prospects and boys, now we bemoan insurance rates and office politics and ... well, boys.
But we can still whisper and huddle and laugh in the same spot. Please join us as we descend into the dark and cozy corners of 33 Dunster Street. The historic figures looking down from the stained-glass windows might remind us of watchful study-hall monitors, but the pitchers of beer will help us forget all over again.
--Joan, Siobhan, Brian, and the Breakfast Club