he was. He did not appear to be Luke's kind of person anyway. What am I going to do? though Luke, terrified But incredible joy kept coming over him too - so many possibilities. He headed back to the centre of Boston, ascended the steps of a marvelous old hall and shouted nonsense phrases in French - at tourists, students, families... office workers and who knows who else. But then, he was losing sight of the goal. This was not just a holiday. Not just a bit of fun. Damn it, this was his life!
He spotted a wood-panelled liquor store humming with the comings and goings of revellers. There, that is my destination, he said to himself crossing the road. It was another kind of Aladdin's cave. Luke opted for something new, grabbing a bottle of Malibu coconut rum. "Have a good one!" grinned the cashier he paid.
Outside, once more, the heat brought him out like a flower. He gazed in awe at the coffee shops, the slow moving traffic. Passersby dawdled, unfazed at his intoxication. He leaned against a green hedgerow, symmetrically trimmed, and took his first sip. Whew! Stronger than I expected. Don't think I can drink that. Oh, come on! It's a holiday, he laughed.
A very muscular man in a Hummer car rolled up and left the engine idling. His daughter jumped out to fetch something from a store down the street. The father noticed Luke but did not stare. Two middle-aged ladies walked briskly made polite eye contact and crickets were frolicking and singing in the bushes. Five young people sauntered slowly by and one of the young men said, "Wow." Curious at the sight of Luke they carried on regardless. It was this American curiosity and optimism that fascinated Luke - back in England people were so pessimistic; they would have by now dismissed him with the designated label of drunkard.
Luke became very excited and animated as he got drunk and although the Bostonians were more tolerant to alcohol, it was illegal to drink out of an open container of alcohol. Eventually a police car spotted him and having finished his bottle only minutes earlier, he was arrested.
The police took him back to his hotel after emptying his wallet of his $200 - this at the time being typical of the American law enforcement's habit of fining people, especially those they believed unable to launch a legal appeal - whatever they liked. When Luke awoke the next morning he was shocked to find an empty purse. When he went to card machines to draw money out with his bank cards the payments could not be processed. He had nowhere to eat in the middle of a blisteringly hot day and was desperate for water too. Well, he wanted to know what Bayside might feel like so he decided to start walking. He walked in the direction of Provincetown, which he judged might be the nearest best thing. He did not know, ironically, that Provincetown was America's premier gay resort.
Along his way, Luke became exhausted. Pulling along his luggage on wheels was like torture as he became dehydrated. A free water fountain in a public park provided some respite; and later a delivery man outside a restaurant gave away a free bottle of mineral water. As he donated it said, "I'm good," which made Luke feel uncomfortable. Such phrases were beyond him and nobody likes to feel behind the times. He kept on walking, following signs to Provincetown and Cape Cod, until he came to a highway. There was no alternative route to progress further - unless he went back a mile or two. That was not possible because his legs were jelly.
So Luke carried onwards and as the highway continued it got worse, the space for pedestrians narrowing. Cars began to sound their horns while he desperately lugged his luggage. I will get struck any second, he thought. My God, I'm going to die. But miraculously there appeared half a mile down the road a lay-by, and he pulled in. He was stuck but at least safer. Two nail-biting minutes passed and then - a sports utility vehicle was swerving in, slowing and a tall
He spotted a wood-panelled liquor store humming with the comings and goings of revellers. There, that is my destination, he said to himself crossing the road. It was another kind of Aladdin's cave. Luke opted for something new, grabbing a bottle of Malibu coconut rum. "Have a good one!" grinned the cashier he paid.
Outside, once more, the heat brought him out like a flower. He gazed in awe at the coffee shops, the slow moving traffic. Passersby dawdled, unfazed at his intoxication. He leaned against a green hedgerow, symmetrically trimmed, and took his first sip. Whew! Stronger than I expected. Don't think I can drink that. Oh, come on! It's a holiday, he laughed.
A very muscular man in a Hummer car rolled up and left the engine idling. His daughter jumped out to fetch something from a store down the street. The father noticed Luke but did not stare. Two middle-aged ladies walked briskly made polite eye contact and crickets were frolicking and singing in the bushes. Five young people sauntered slowly by and one of the young men said, "Wow." Curious at the sight of Luke they carried on regardless. It was this American curiosity and optimism that fascinated Luke - back in England people were so pessimistic; they would have by now dismissed him with the designated label of drunkard.
Luke became very excited and animated as he got drunk and although the Bostonians were more tolerant to alcohol, it was illegal to drink out of an open container of alcohol. Eventually a police car spotted him and having finished his bottle only minutes earlier, he was arrested.
The police took him back to his hotel after emptying his wallet of his $200 - this at the time being typical of the American law enforcement's habit of fining people, especially those they believed unable to launch a legal appeal - whatever they liked. When Luke awoke the next morning he was shocked to find an empty purse. When he went to card machines to draw money out with his bank cards the payments could not be processed. He had nowhere to eat in the middle of a blisteringly hot day and was desperate for water too. Well, he wanted to know what Bayside might feel like so he decided to start walking. He walked in the direction of Provincetown, which he judged might be the nearest best thing. He did not know, ironically, that Provincetown was America's premier gay resort.
Along his way, Luke became exhausted. Pulling along his luggage on wheels was like torture as he became dehydrated. A free water fountain in a public park provided some respite; and later a delivery man outside a restaurant gave away a free bottle of mineral water. As he donated it said, "I'm good," which made Luke feel uncomfortable. Such phrases were beyond him and nobody likes to feel behind the times. He kept on walking, following signs to Provincetown and Cape Cod, until he came to a highway. There was no alternative route to progress further - unless he went back a mile or two. That was not possible because his legs were jelly.
So Luke carried onwards and as the highway continued it got worse, the space for pedestrians narrowing. Cars began to sound their horns while he desperately lugged his luggage. I will get struck any second, he thought. My God, I'm going to die. But miraculously there appeared half a mile down the road a lay-by, and he pulled in. He was stuck but at least safer. Two nail-biting minutes passed and then - a sports utility vehicle was swerving in, slowing and a tall
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