Chapter 11: D Is for DinosaurBoston is a big city—way too big for this hayseed child from Tupelo, Mississippi, the birthplace of Elvis, who was about the only exciting thing that ever happened there. Well, that and the opening of the Starbucks on West Main.
Boston was claustrophobic. Too many streets, cars, intersections, people coming and going, too many towering buildings, steep inclines. It was exhausting just looking at it. Give me the backwoods where you can scratch an itch without dislocating someone’s shoulder.
I wisely left the driving to Jackson and drank in the sights with Tony, who sat in the backseat, decked out in a winter coat, gloves, and hat like a little snowman, safely buckled up. He craned his neck to stare out the window like he was a tourist in his own town.
Tony wa
