Rain in Boston

After what felt like forty days wandering in the wilderness - - - actually only a week -- en route from San Francisco to New York to Bucharest to Rousse to Sofia to Vratsa to Lom -- sleeping on a different couch or floor every night -- we finally arrived at Mr Quill's digs at the BIG LITTLE, a village of 1,497 Turks & 3 Bulgarians in Northeast Bulgarity. I felt deeply beat up from the heavy traveling, and the first day was spent leisurely recovering, a little weed-picking in Quill's Boston -- a watermelon field, & also the American city of his origin, a pun which no small affair has been made of in his year here, you may recall it featured prominently in the newspaper TRUD (Labor). To get mint for mint juleps, we visited a baba & chatted for an hour, she was about 4'10" & wearing those awesome dumpy pants. We ended up leaving with more delicious fresh produce than we could carry. Mint juleps, gross bulgar beer, Olaf's genius vegetable creations, turkish nargileh, & game of durock (Quill's Russian card game of choice & college nostalgia) that lasted late into the night, & we are recovered & ready for the week's work - - - making a movie with his schoolgirls. It's storming like burnt toast today, rain, Allah, rain, grow Boston, grow. (Above is an old photo with his clever sign, before the good people of Boston began to prosper. Below is my favorite classiest photo of Mr Quill with his friend Martishka, taken last June, with whom we've been traveling around for the past few days. I'll leave the photography to the giants of the earth, there's many pictures if the Big Little & the Boston at allforgotteneast.blogspot.com)