What's your coda going to say?

Today was more frustrating, disappointing, and exhausting than I had wanted, but at least it afforded me the opportunity to visit Mei Mei for the first time since its relocation to South Boston and conversion into a dumpling hot spot, crucially retaining the comfort food supreme of the Double Awesome, whose scallion pancake wrap of soft-boiled eggs with cheddar and pesto remains as addictively satisfying as the first time it tempted me past my native textural aversions ten years ago. The presence of a Tatte literally next door meant I could chase it with a square of almond-crusted pistachio cherry tart which there is no reason for me not to have eaten in the last four years, except that for a few vivid months I used to purchase it before walking from one appointment in Kendall Square to another at MGH and then suddenly it was no longer part of my routine to make that trip on foot across the Longfellow Bridge or indeed much of anywhere except the flowering rounds of Winter Hill. I have to get used to carrying my camera around the city again. I found myself looking down on the tracks and catenaries and cars of the Red Line at Cabot Yard, tilt-shift toy-sized from West 4th Street: it seems inconceivable the last time could have been six years ago. I saw the Seussian striped light poles of the Millers River Littoral Way. I forgot to mention the day I took my niece to North Point Park, I glimpsed the new North Washington Street Bridge, a white fish spine instead of a rust-trussed swing span. I hope there will still be moon jellies rippling in the water off the footpath beneath.