We walked a long way—miles from Pelham to Broadway. The streets went from slushy to icy at the end.
The building was an ancient mill building overlooking the Boston and Maine railroad tracks in Charlestown.
Everyone had a "handle" - a nickname, at the Folkie Palace.
I thought I'd worked through all the issues. But the leftover residue from my days as a folksinger had other ideas.
There was no such thing as a typical holiday at the Folkie Palace.
Regular liquidation firms had run from the job once they became lost in the maze of buildings, basements, and attics.
The Palace was a regular stopping place for all sorts of folks going to and fro. People would hear about the Palace and drop in while en route to their destination. Parties ultimately ensued. Hangovers were an occupational hazard of living this lifestyle. Hangover cures were always in demand.
Revenge can be sweet if smelly.
I was embarrassed. The friend who had challenged me to create the list was aghast.
Over the next couple of months, my friends and I taught Sarah how to shop in the Haymarket from the pushcarts at closing time.