for years while living in the fens, i watched the construction on the museum of fine arts boston art of the americas wing start to grow. i worked in the museum restaurant, and the wing grew. i'd walk through the underground tunnels of the museum, past the infamous sarcophagus that was too heavy and large to make it up to the museum viewing floors, and the wing grew. i walked through the construction site as a shortcut to get to my classes, and the wing grew. i cursed the backhoes and dumptrucks on forsyth street because they were eating up vital parking spots, and the wing grew. and now it's ready for the public! i feel old.