I'll miss the locals
In just one week, it will be time to say goodbye to Boston's North End, the neighborhood I’ve called home for five years and one of the most magical paces on earth.
As I prepare to leave, I’ve been reflecting on all that I’ll miss -- the skinny alleyways and cobblestone streets, the smells of garlic on summer evenings, the rich history. Once, I even convinced a girl to go out with me by telling her I lived in "the most European neighborhood in the US." I will certainly miss that! But more than any of these things, what I’ll miss the most about the North End is the locals.
I’m going to miss walking by Caffè dello Sport and hearing the old men with gold chains muttering in Italian.
I’m going to miss seeing the man in the middle of his wide-open garage on Salem St., peacefully reading his newspaper at 1 a.m.
I’m going to miss strolling by the fire station and getting yelled at by the firemen for wearing duck boots when it’s not raining.
I’m even going to miss the geezer a couple apartments over on Henchman St., hanging out of his window at 11 o'clock on a Friday night, screaming at the hooligans below for making too much noise: "Shut the f*** up and keep it down!!!"
In recent decades, this neighborhood has been overtaken by people like me -- 20-somethings who've just graduated from college and want to live somewhere trendy. And yet, the locals still define this place. The North End isn’t quite what it used to be, but when you hear the old ladies and their accents, when you see the same people every morning that you’ve seen for five years - you know the heart of the neighborhood is still very much alive. I’m going to miss it all so much.