The young woman observed me throughout my set. It was a bit off-putting, frankly. I went back into the boiler room afterward; it was the only greenroom that this coffeehouse had for performers to tune instruments or have a cup of coffee. However, my privacy didn't last. The young woman barged in and began berating me loudly.
I used to head directly to the espresso when I was younger. So you might say that I was on the express to the espresso.
My friends described the backside of Beacon Hill in the '60s as a working-class slum. Not at all an accurate description. Worn at the heels, seen better times, shabbily genteel; those were better descriptors.