On New Year's Eve, the people in Boston walk around like monkeys off to war. They grip their purses tight with two hands. Their phalluses hang limp, swinging between their legs. Some of the monkeys line up in the common waiting for the ice sculptures to come alive. Particularly, they are hoping that the princess on a pony carrying a broadsword will melt to life, gallop down Park Street and slash open the doors to Finagle a Bagel, offering a 10 cent discount on soup and scones.
"Follow me to warm liquid wonderfulness! Double dip your white chocolate raspberry pastry into the pot of coffee that is your salvation and my curse!"
Then she will melt completely and the 22 year old Suffolk Law student who is shop manager (but only till her loans are paid off) will make the decision to give everyone free bathroom tokens in hopes that the angry hoard will be appeased.
We are never appeased. Unless we are ice skating. Then we are happy. Happy and appeased.