: It’s a sickness. I’m in Boston for the blog conference and I set the alarm for 5:30 so I can go out running in the fog. And I discover that Boston has a runners’ rush hour. They’re thick: toothpick-legged, with underfed faces and blank looks of determination, there we are, running nowhere. Where I run, out in the middle of nowhere, I run into somebody once or twice a week. We wave and say good morning. I saw my first fellow runner this morning and nodded. She looked at me as if I were a masher.
by Jeff Jarvis