I cut through a back alley all for it’s beauty (most allies are more beautiful than any street could ever be) and came to find a strange orange, bridge with spiral ramps on either side. The bridge took pedestrians above the highway to look over the city. This urban structure was interesting enough and I enjoyed the idea of being able to look far and wide, so I took to walking up one of the spiral ramps to look out onto Boston. I stood at the centre of the bridge for only a minute. This moment, like many others in my life was greatly exaggerated and romanticized in my mind before it even happened, so much so that reality didn’t stand a chance. While I attempted to enjoy this fleeting moment, I looked over to the other side of where I came, the other side of the bridge and saw the Charles River. I was hoping I would be able to walk by the river during my visit and, serendipity, there it was. The waterfront was garnished with Cherry Blossoms that were bursting at the seams, a stage built to withstand small orchestras and a dock, with one chair waiting for me.  As I walked up to this chair that I swear had my name engraved in it, I asked an older grey haired man filling the seat opposite to the one I was wanting to call home and asked if it were taken. He assured me it was all mine, I sat down and we were one. The older Boston gentleman and his thick New England accent made conversation with me about small details in life. He was on break from being an usher, mostly working Celtic games. During our silent moments I looked out onto the river, so quit and calm, as the sailboats would glide by. In that moment, inevitably the Motown classic “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay” began on repeat in my head. I finally got that song, unlike when it would play in my car in rush hour and thought I “got it”. I finally fucking lived that song. Life is filled with little victories.