Ultimately, One Has To Get Home

After the last ball is pitched, the last player tagged out, the last pretzel eaten and the last beer drunk, it's time to make one's way -- s l o w l y -- through the night, on the streets of Boston, back to the hotel.

But those are photos for a different day.

The next morning, one gets to hits the streets of Boston again. One has to think about eventually making one's way to the train -- ultimately, one has to get home, after all -- but not for hours, and not until many more delights have been enjoyed.

Because in the morning? Newbury Street calls.

Cheers!

Smoked salmon and poached eggs and home fries for MB and me . . .

. . . a cold meatloaf sandwich for Da Dowd.

. . . and an omelet for Mistah.

The fabulous Andrea served us.  Is everyone who waits tables in Boston kind and nice and fun and lovely?
Yes. Yes, everyone is.

We are all four in this photo. That is just cool.

Yes.

There is no shortage of cool spots to visit on an early Saturday afternoon in May . . .

. . . and we availed ourselves of many of them.

And . . . another lovely waitron. The adorable Ashley. And me.

Our selfies need a little work.

And . . . we're off. West on Boylston . . .

. . . toward Back Bay Station.

So much beautiful walking.

Good-bye lovely city. Thanks for all the fun.

Oh, hello Amtrak!

We had a Time on the Amtrak.

We studied the story of our baseball game in the Globe . . . 

And yakked with our neighbors . . . 

. . . on their way back to Philadelphia . . . 

. . . and gazed out the window, at the lovely scenery.

And then . . .

. . . we crossed the Thames River into our good ol' home town.

Good-bye Boston . . .

Hello New London.