It’s been another watershed year on McCormick Street, marked by several outbursts of bloody violence, long stretches of tedium, and an incessant weeping that seems to be coming from the pipes that criss-cross our entire house, remnants of our admittedly excessive “monkey bar” period. For those of our friends who remember how puzzled we were by finding large, buttery footprints all over the ceiling of our anteroom, month after month, you’ll be relieved to learn that the mystery has been solved – it was a neighbor.

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