Casa Walsh

There’s a stretch of Broadway that is home to a string of antique stores and auction houses that all operate on a sporadic or by-appointment-only schedule. Black Ink and the Museum of Useful Things recently merged to make room for another one of these shops. Smack in the middle of this block is a storefront with no name or list of operation hours. It’s filled with junk: stacks of yellowing papers, pieces of furniture, and many dusty, unidentifiable objects. I’ve never seen anyone in there. Except for a very old, black cat. I’ve walked by the window hundreds of times and never once has the cat not been on its widowsill pillow. He changes positions, sometimes curled up tightly, sometimes sitting with his legs folded underneath him. It worries me a little to think of the day when the cat won’t be there anymore. Maybe because it will signal some great change in my life. Or maybe because it will mean the cat is dead.

“broadway kitty”

There’s a stretch of Broadway that is home to a string of antique stores and auction houses that all operate on a sporadic or by-appointment-only schedule. Black Ink and the Museum of Useful Things recently merged to make room for another one of these shops. Smack in the middle of this block is a storefront with no name or list of operation hours. It’s filled with junk: stacks of yellowing papers, pieces of furniture, and many dusty, unidentifiable objects. I’ve never seen anyone in there. Except for a very old, black cat. I’ve walked by the window hundreds of times and never once has the cat not been on its widowsill pillow. He changes positions, sometimes curled up tightly, sometimes sitting with his legs folded underneath him. It worries me a little to think of the day when the cat won’t be there anymore. Maybe because it will signal some great change in my life. Or maybe because it will mean the cat is dead.

“broadway kitty”

There’s a stretch of Broadway that is home to a string of antique stores and auction houses that all operate on a sporadic or by-appointment-only schedule. Black Ink and the Museum of Useful Things recently merged to make room for another one of these shops. Smack in the middle of this block is a storefront with no name or list of operation hours. It’s filled with junk: stacks of yellowing papers, pieces of furniture, and many dusty, unidentifiable objects. I’ve never seen anyone in there. Except for a very old, black cat. I’ve walked by the window hundreds of times and never once has the cat not been on its widowsill pillow. He changes positions, sometimes curled up tightly, sometimes sitting with his legs folded underneath him. It worries me a little to think of the day when the cat won’t be there anymore. Maybe because it will signal some great change in my life. Or maybe because it will mean the cat is dead.

“broadway kitty”

Finally. The heat. It feels so good to sweat. Let me qualify that: It feels so good to sweat without having to resort to any physical exertion, like exercise. Welcome to New England, heat wave. It’s not summer until there’s at least one heat-related death.

Finally. The heat. It feels so good to sweat. Let me qualify that: It feels so good to sweat without having to resort to any physical exertion, like exercise. Welcome to New England, heat wave. It’s not summer until there’s at least one heat-related death.

Finally. The heat. It feels so good to sweat. Let me qualify that: It feels so good to sweat without having to resort to any physical exertion, like exercise. Welcome to New England, heat wave. It’s not summer until there’s at least one heat-related death.

A couple times a week, I pass the same guy on my way to work. I’m walking down the street towards Harvard Square, he’s running in the opposite direction. He’s always carrying a folder or portfolio. Which makes me wonder, is he running to work? He doesn’t have a bag with him, so either he works at a really casual office where they don’t mind the stench of sweaty shoes and shorts or he’s involved in some sort of delivery service. Like a bike messenger, but on foot.

I’m still not used to having a camera with me, so I could only get a shot of him after he passed me. He may not look like he’s sprinting, but trust me, this guy can move.

A couple times a week, I pass the same guy on my way to work. I’m walking down the street towards Harvard Square, he’s running in the opposite direction. He’s always carrying a folder or portfolio. Which makes me wonder, is he running to work? He doesn’t have a bag with him, so either he works at a really casual office where they don’t mind the stench of sweaty shoes and shorts or he’s involved in some sort of delivery service. Like a bike messenger, but on foot.

I’m still not used to having a camera with me, so I could only get a shot of him after he passed me. He may not look like he’s sprinting, but trust me, this guy can move.

A couple times a week, I pass the same guy on my way to work. I’m walking down the street towards Harvard Square, he’s running in the opposite direction. He’s always carrying a folder or portfolio. Which makes me wonder, is he running to work? He doesn’t have a bag with him, so either he works at a really casual office where they don’t mind the stench of sweaty shoes and shorts or he’s involved in some sort of delivery service. Like a bike messenger, but on foot.

I’m still not used to having a camera with me, so I could only get a shot of him after he passed me. He may not look like he’s sprinting, but trust me, this guy can move.