Wheels Up!
I had to leave this morning. It was an excellent flight: I took two sleeping pills upon take-off with some effervescent "Airborne" brand anti-sickness stuff and asked for bourbon and soda at the first drink service. I've never traveled with so much junk in my life while leaving so much behind. Literally, figuratively; there was far too much left behind.
After touch-down, I needed a good deal of retail therapy, a phone call from [N] or [S], whatever. Instead, I got a mile-long taxi line (in which persons were strictly admonished not to smoke), and a rather uneventful trip to Queens where I was to be the guest of my famously alcoholic college roommate. Little did I know the extent to which cigarette smoke will permeate one’s belongings when there are three smokers (two occasional, one constant) in the same apartment.
I write a portion of this in retrospect of the weekend of my arrival:
After a few rather eventful days, I trekked to the Upper West Side in preparation of a great deal of writing interposed with a subway-move to the Lower East Side. I really do live in two entirely different worlds: one pleasantly rarified and conducive to work, the other boisterous to an extent thoroughly in keeping with the marked absence of money. Admittedly, it was much fun in undergrad but now it doesn’t make very much sense. In truth, I now only visit The Land of Undergrad in fleeting episodes, such as last weekend. I fear I’ve changed too much to actually enjoy living there. Alas, college mirth; we knew thee for but a moment.
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