It sounds a little like a synonym for the expression “Bronx Cheer”, but we’re being completely literal here. We are talking about a raspberry in the city: a regular raspberry, the kind that grows on a bush in clusters.
I was walking to the Noteflight office this morning, a walk which meanders through Cambridge’s various ideas of upscale, downscale and industrial-scale before terminating in a neighborhood one could describe as biotech chic. It’s ironic that what we call the “life sciences” seem to require, for their successful pursuit, a sterile environment purged of all life. This notion seems to have leaked outward from their labs and glove boxes into the architecture, which is designed to convey that same sterility. I much prefer the industrial stretch of my walk, right at the boundary of bio-land and the residential neighborhood preceding it. In this area, a disused auto repair shop looks exactly like what it is, lying just outside the zone in which it would have been cleaned up to reflect its rows of newly minted equipment inside.
On that walk today, I met an urban raspberry. Like the auto repair shop, it looked exactly like what it was. I ate it, looking at the cracked and broken windows of the buildings around me. A perfect moment unfolded on my tongue, fading half a block later.
