Still in it.

Early mornings are usually pretty quiet in this downtown, and it makes those walking the cobblestones and bricks more inclined to converse with strangers as they walk by. It feels as if autumn proves all the more condusive to conversation. Everyone has the same things on their minds.

Coffee. Something warm. Pretty leaves. Bundle up. Rosy cheeks.

As I made my way up the street for my coffee and conversation, my eyes lit up upon seing Red Sox caps above bleary-eyed faces.

Fourth only to the ALCS comeback, the championship and the victory parade, baseball conversation on Church Street was my favorite part of fall ball last year.

From October 2004:
i immediately walked into a number of walk-bys greetings and smiles from my boston bretheren. it was a huge surprise to me, as i'd just walked the same street minutes before and seen only a smattering of red sox gear. on my post-purchase travels, i've graciously received compliments on the hat and remarks of "can't wait for tonight!" after buying my hot caffeinated bevarage, i had the door to the coffeeshop held open for me by a charming fellow wearing a boston hat of his own. he had held the door for the older woman leaving before me and remained at the doorman perch for longer than most would consider necessary, letting me pass through the doorway unencumbered. he smiled as i said thank you, replying that he wouldn't hold the door for a yankees fan.

I couldn't fall asleep last night, after the jumping, shouting and cheering at the televised game. When I woke, I felt exhausted. Yet jubilant.

We're not dead yet.

We're nearing the post-season, uncertain about whether our name will be inscribed on one of the few invitations to the party. It's back to the Boston-New York rivalry, a little early this year, but just as desperate. A playoff within the regular season, for all intensive purposes - as do or die as the ALCS last year, in many minds.

Boston fans roll their eyes upon seeing the NY cap bobbing down the streets, and we grin at those who wear the same blue and red as we do. "How about that game last night?" "Ortiz is the man!" "Hell of a weekend coming up, huh?" "Hey, good luck this weekend."

We wish each other luck. I've had three people wish me luck for Sunday. I'm sitting in the upper bleachers, near the back of the park. The luck is necessary, but in a spot far away from where I will be sitting. Yet I wish the luck right back. Good luck to you too, man.

As I stood in line, waiting to pay for my latte, I saw the straight brim of the barista's Boston hat. I decided to embrace the time of year.

"What did you think of the game last night?"

"Oh man," he said. "I was ready to give up, but loved the outcome. It was painful, most of it, wasn't it?"

We chatted about how we watched or listened as he rang me up and handed me my change. As I prepared to turn away, I looked back and smiled.

"Good luck this weekend."

He grinned and rolled his eyes up toward the brim. "I'll need it. You too."