Last night's rarities: a lunar eclipse and the first Boston Red Sox World Series victory since 1918. 1AM and the crisp autumn air carries distant sounds of screams and explosions and National Guard choppers as if there is a battlefront raging somewhere nearby. This morning, across the street: an abandoned 10-speed with hopelessly bent wheels and Warren is in his overalls out in his garden transplanting some asparagus. He tells me a story about his last visit to Fenway in 1939, when admission was less than a dollar and Ted Williams was a rookie.