In Dave Gilmartin's 2006 book "The Absolute Worst Places To Live in America," Allston, Massachusetts took top honors as one of the most dreadful towns in the country. During my college years in Cambridge, I used to trek out to Allston regularly for house parties, and I can't say Mr. Gilmartin's assessment is fallacy. Venturing home from Allston to my house in Harvard Square was always a unique experience, and if I made it back without stepping in vomit or tripping over a dead cat, I considered my night a success. While not without its charms, Allston was, in a word, really fucking gross (ok, three words). I could lament the bodily fluids caking every curbside, or bemoan the pervasive bedbug infestation which seemed to never end, but by far my favorite aspect of Allston was the fact that its residents seemed to have no problem with bringing their domestic disputes right out into the street.