LOST BOSTON VIRGINITY: “LIFE AS AN INDEPENDENT SORT BEGAN IN LATE 99”
I was living in Brockton, Mass, city of champions, whores, and switchblades, when I first met former hot-shot Dig editor Joe Keohane. He invited me into Cambridge, along with a couple of sweaty friends, to get loaded on whiskey while watching Boston’s most house-rocking roots band, Tarbox Ramblers. At one point some fat-back chump from the ‘burbs tried to muscle us out of our seats. I ill-advisedly reached in the pocket of my coat, presented a switchblade, and jammed it into the table, “The seats are ours” I imprudently commanded.
The chump let out a beer fart and dispersed without taking issue.
I ended up taking residence in the city a few months later, embarking on a hellish journey through the back alleys of journalism to the confines of a long distance romance, only to find myself in the middle of Amsterdam, heart-broken, with a blade firmly pressed to my throat. From then on, I lost interest in knives.