Day One: West Springfield, MA

It's always nice to see one of your best friends for the first time in a while and find that absolutely nothing has changed. It took about an hour and a half to drive to West Springfield, while Danny was at the gym four minutes away from home. Of course, I reached his house first. Several minutes later he arrived and greeted me with a "Hey buddy, how ya doin?" After a high-five/hug came what I was waiting for. "Dude, I got a poop BREWING." We went inside and his girlfriend Kelly offered me a beer while he regaled me with tales of defecation involving both himself and those he acquaints with, so rapidly that I soon lost track of who was pooping and where. Some things never change.

Making it even harder to concentrate on what he had to say were his two dogs, Max (pictured) and Lexi. A pair of stand-up pooches, though Max has work to do on his manners toward houseguests. That is MY Bubba Burger goddamnit.

Eventually Danny and I were off to the liquor store in his '81 Ford pickup in search of Sparks, further proof that things were just the same as they always were. But the store we went to didn't have any. We figured they had been a casualty of the great Four Loko purge, but the shopkeep explained he didn't carry them only because they hardly sold. So we were off to the next liquor store, called Rotary Liquors, as it was located on a traffic circle. Booze and a roundabout seemed like a deadly enough combination, but the area was also home to a group of neighborhood toughs. Russian toughs. Вот дерьмо. "Don't worry, they're cool if you don't fuck with them." Fortunately (?) for me, I wasn't inclined to tempt fate so soon into this trip. However, success, Sparks acquired, and we returned to his house and sat outside, drinking, talking, and looking up people that we'd gone to elementary school with on facebook. Mainly the ones who smelled like pee. Fine, only the ones who smelled like pee.

Now, time to rest on the luxurious air mattress I was provided. I guess some things do change. This certainly beats sleeping on a pull-out couch in a freezing cold room with only a fitted sheet to keep me warm.

The cat was the last one I saw before I left Framingham. My family had prior engagements, and were not there to see me leave. Unless you count the cat, which I don't. He's such an asshole. Not that that should be very surprising. One highlight before I left: my dad left a voicemail for me. "Have a good trip and ... uh ... I'll ... catch up to you somewhere along the line." Perfect.

(Highlight No. 2: Mom: "We are a terrible family.")