So your chances of seeing a crispy-faced Grateful Dead follower with pigeons stuck to his beard screaming about fascism while pushing a baby carriage aren’t quite as high as they were, say, back in 1980. That’s okay; there’s still plenty to gawk at in HARVARD SQUARE. One recent foray afforded the following spectacles: a midget howling about steak tips in front of Charlie’s Kitchen; a teenager in a prep school uniform puking outside of Border Café; and an Amazonian doyenne with an accent of European origin conducting an animated conversation with a bouquet of flowers upon entering Cardullo’s.
There’s a certain tension about the place: an element of suspense, knowing that on one side of the street, the future leaders of America iron their khakis behind Ivy-covered walls, while just down the lane, a man — Harvard Class of ’70, perhaps? — is singing “Georgia on My Mind” while urinating into a Dunkin Donuts cup. When brilliance meets schizophrenia, anything is possible.
