Something to Work On

The gentle breeze blew across Boston Harbor. The stench of dead fish and sewage was seasoned by a salty draft. Some said you could catch a whiff: tea, poured a couple of centuries ago and still steeping down in the murky depths. Richard always enjoyed those tales, the generational folklores that his father passed down to him. They would come down here late in the evening and his father would tell him those stories.