This is hanging in the Boylston Street atrium at the Prudential Center. There are similar decorations in other atriums (atria?) of the complex, but this is the most garish. I wonder how much it weighs, by what means it's hanging there and how much the Pru had to pay for accident insurance in case it falls.

'Twas the afternoon before the night before Christmas, and I ventured forth for errands. It had mostly stopped raining, but it was depressingly wet and gray anyway. A little snow would have been nice.

The malls and skyways at Copley Place and the Prudential Center were predictably busy, but I had my walkman on and it all just flowed. There were a lot of children, which surprises me every year. This isn't a kid-attracting part of town, and the Prudential Center security guys chase off any stray skaters, but they show up during the holidays, trailing behind their parents, only occasionally being irritating (as in, permeating my headphones).

I picked up some stuff at Copley Place, staying well clear of the Coach store on the first level, and took the skywalk over to the Pru. I was headed for the paper store when a voice permeated my headphones by calling my name.

It was a Prudential Center security guy I've known practically since I moved here in 1993. He survived changes of management and everything. I'd only missed him because he was in plainclothes. "Hey," I said, coming over and shaking his hand. "I didn't even see you. But I guess that's the point."

I met him shortly after I moved here. He was working security in the garages, so I saw him pretty often. You know all the bad jokes about rent-a-cops; I said them all about him. It scared the living hell out of me one night when it turned out he carried a gun.

But all jokes aside, I played a lot of pool and stayed out late a lot of nights when I first moved here, so knowing a security guard who worked the night shift and packed heat was fine with me. And I guess the joke's on me now anyway. It may be a small pond, but he's gotten to be a bigger (and more comfortable) fish, and he must be good at his job.

The video store did an about-face on me again and asked me to check my backpack. I don't mind checking my backpack. It's just that every time I go in there, they change the rules. Maybe they're just trying to keep me on my feet.

You'd think it would be written in stone at a big chain video store. These kids don't even get to choose what's playing on the multiple screens around the place. At my old and still beloved video store, they just kick back, watch movies, and rent out tapes and DVDs. I'd rather browse, never mind work, with Chinatown in the background than with an endless loop of trailers and commercials cut with Disney films.

And the kids at the little store are Emerson film majors with Manic Panic blue hair who have seen everything ever made and make good referrals. They love movies. The kids at the Chain Video store are mostly just punching a clock.

But the Chain Video Store rents for longer, so I have three movies: Made, Following and, just for fun, Out of Sight, which I've seen before and liked. George Clooney is so cool.

I wonder if anyone's doing laundry tonight. That might be a good idea.