A Boston story in 50 words

Hanging boxing gloves isolated on white background
adobe stock

Wintertime — and my bare knuckles bloody on an outbound Orange Line train. An old man, sitting nearby, staring at them, saying: “You must be a boxer.” I wasn’t, but I had dry skin that frequently bled in cold weather.

In my 20s then, I nodded at him without denying it.

— Don Cummings, Melrose