Finals, festive?

It was a coincidence that we were in the vicinity of the Garden today; an office birthday, a trip to the Fours on Canal St. Still, we expected to feel the charge in the air, perhaps spotting Kobe chowing down on a taco salad at the bar, or Stuart Scott leveling his searing teleprompter gaze on a menu in the back corner.
Instead, there were usual North Station scrubs; a man and woman picking up spare change scattered on the ground in front of a doorway; the ubiquitous sleeper outside Dunks; cab drivers racing through yellow lights, nearly mowing down anything in sight.
Still, we popped over to the box office, just in case. Sold out.

Leave a Reply