This is the worst non-vacation vacation ever. Two hours on hold with our airline. Studying Amtrak routes. We're supposed to be at Coney Island right now riding the Cyclone and barfing up hotdogs right into the Oompa Loompa bronzed laps of hairy middle aged men dressed in their finest Speedos.
That girl weeping on the roof of a hotel in Brooklyn, staring at the Manhattan skyline like a betrayed lover: That's me.
Fuck you, Earth.