I’m leaving early in the morning for Boston. To look for a place to live in Boston. What a strange and wonderful realization: that we can really just move anywhere. I suppose there are a few exceptions. I think that, because I am not Jewish, I cannot live in Israel. Also, I am pretty sure North Korea would not like me coming to stay.
Or maybe coming at all.
When I worked in South Korea, I took a little trip to the demilitarized zone. Called The DMZ. Not to be confused with the DMV–though both are pretty uninhabitable, to be honest. I think the main difference, though, is that at least in the DMV, you don’t have guns trained on you. Seriously. I could see the soldiers with their guns pointing towards the Southern border, when I was there (at the DMZ). Also, I suppose you don’t generally walk out of the DMZ with the ability to drive your parents’ minivan home.
Those are the kinds of things that are supposed to make the life of a teenager, right? I never did learn to be thrilled over driving. That’s another reason why I love NYC. I don’t have to drive. Ever. The subway conductor does that for me, leaving me to read my books or write or think thoughts that have nothing to do with There’s a cop…WHAT SPEED AM I GOING?!
Anyway, driving. Something that I’ll have to do in Boston, I suppose. It’s a small price to pay for an adventure, though. And there are plenty of places to do your reading, writing, and thinking outside of the subway.
I suppose I’ll just have to find those places in Boston.
Like I did in NYC.
Like I did before that in Pennsylvania.
It’s a comforting thought that history repeats itself.
At least, in this case, anyway.