Words &c.

And so with very sore feet, I sit back down in the Park Street station and await a train to Ashmont (rather than Braintree, which is the best New England town name I've heard).

The Museum of Science is, I say with a heavy but admiring heart, superior to OMSI (though not in the OMNIMAX and submarine departments! We'll defend our hypoaquatic supremacy to the death!). Mainly because of the amount of space they have. They're able to cover most scientific subjects with decent depth.

Back on the Red Line. There's a very tiny, sleepy Asian woman across from me I want to pick up and hug until her ribs snap.

One of the better exhibits of the Museum was its Evolution section. They come out very strongly on the side of evolution by natural selection (and the evidence wouldn't have it any other way), and present it in an accurate and understandable manner that clears up many common misconceptions. For one, the idea of the common ancestor, which is a fairly simple one that a lot of people never get.

They have a huge exhibit dedicated to Jane Goodall's work, which includes an area where you can put on wooden arm-stilts and walk like a chimp.

I departed with a bag from the gift shop and a mighty apetite. Science makes me hungry. Alas, the in-house restaurants were closed, and the pizza shop I saw on Bomfield street (the one with jewelry, coin, and baseball card merchants) had also closed its doors (surprisingly early, too - this was at 6:30).

After a walk around the Boston Commons and some more photography (down to 20 photos), some gawking at a street preacher, and refilling my CharlieTicket I returned to the depths of the city and prepared for my return ride, on which I am now on.

Our train has stopped and the speaker is making disturbing noises, and speaking in what is possibly Polish. There are very few of us on the train. I pray we are not suddenly the main characters of a horror film. The thrum of the underground has never sounded so menacing.

With a frightening hiss of steam the train starts up again. The radio chatter continues. We may be riding into some hell dimension that is like a twisted mockery of our own. We may be entering... the Twilight Zone.

With the tinny radio chatter and the train, I am reminded uncomfortably of Half-Life 2. Crap, no crowbar.

The power display grows red. Radio silence until return to homebase.