lost maps and lukewarm tea: a steaming ivy league player's meltdown in cambridge
woke up here at 3am cuz that stupid foghorn at the pie van sounded like it was auditioning for poltergeist. the thermometer in this café read -1°C but the actual air feels colder than a broken cisco summer. locals call it ‘the velvet slop’ but it’s more like a jacuzzi filled with regret.
i tried photographing the bridge but the mist was thicker than a hipster’s beard. one girl said something about “a barge sank here two weeks ago” and another dude at the pub just shook his head like i’d asked him to donate a kidney. the cold seeps into your bones like liquid bollocks.
Yelp says this pub’s ‘cozy’ but their pub quiz is just two whispers yelling at each other. TripAdvisor’s ‘very good’ review? seems like a lie. their meat pie will steal your soul. local told me ‘if you mess with the rose pub menu, the toilets play backmasked dubstep.’ didn’t validate that, but the sink did try to bite my finger.
tags: travel,cambridge,photography,׿§-guess-im-not-a-math-nerd
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