Tell all your neighbors I'm a fisher
In lesser news of the day, I was violently street-harassed for the first time in a couple of years: not physically, but a total stranger of a dude pulled his mask off and screamed obscenities at me from a distance of six to ten feet because, I guess, I had the temerity to walk toward him on the same narrowly carved channel of sidewalk between snowbanks as opposed to retreating or wading out into traffic and leaving his balls an unopposed right of way. I assume his masculinity was feeling fragile because he called me bitch. I walked past him and his unmasked face.
In better news, I visited some bridges.
I love the fire escapes on the side of the Litchfield Block. I have been photographing them for years now. Still not bored.
I have a tendency to think of it as the Easter bridge ever since we came down it as part of![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch's sunrise service in 2020, but it is the McGrath Highway Bridge and I love even the rust of its steel struts and rivets. I hope to see it rehabilitated before the city decides to replace it instead.
Its age-mate the Cross Street Bridge—1928 to its 1926—was rehabilitated in 2014 and looks very fine.
The Lowell Line from the Cross Street Bridge. I will get used to calling it the Medford Branch of the Green Line Extension when the cars begin to run.
"Some talk of a Lagonda, some like a smart MG . . ." Found in the parking lot of Pearl Street Studios, where I expect it to remain until spring.
My niece has just gotten her first pair of glasses. I was sent a picture. We sent a supportive picture in return.
I got back and we ordered dinner immediately from Southern Kin Cookhouse, since we had been desperately missing the fried chicken of the delicious, departed Highland Fried; this was different and quite good and Rob ate most of his meal with an Autolycus craning earnestly over his elbow, even after the little darling had been bribed. Neither biscuits nor key lime pie are safe with that cat around. I believe we are going to try to watch something fun.
In better news, I visited some bridges.
I love the fire escapes on the side of the Litchfield Block. I have been photographing them for years now. Still not bored.
I have a tendency to think of it as the Easter bridge ever since we came down it as part of
spatch's sunrise service in 2020, but it is the McGrath Highway Bridge and I love even the rust of its steel struts and rivets. I hope to see it rehabilitated before the city decides to replace it instead.
Its age-mate the Cross Street Bridge—1928 to its 1926—was rehabilitated in 2014 and looks very fine.
The Lowell Line from the Cross Street Bridge. I will get used to calling it the Medford Branch of the Green Line Extension when the cars begin to run.
"Some talk of a Lagonda, some like a smart MG . . ." Found in the parking lot of Pearl Street Studios, where I expect it to remain until spring.
My niece has just gotten her first pair of glasses. I was sent a picture. We sent a supportive picture in return.
I got back and we ordered dinner immediately from Southern Kin Cookhouse, since we had been desperately missing the fried chicken of the delicious, departed Highland Fried; this was different and quite good and Rob ate most of his meal with an Autolycus craning earnestly over his elbow, even after the little darling had been bribed. Neither biscuits nor key lime pie are safe with that cat around. I believe we are going to try to watch something fun.
no subject
I'm glad your day had other things in it that were good, like bridges and your niece and key lime pie.
no subject
Thank you!
And I appreciate your hope.