With Love From Brooklyn
It seemed like a good idea to coax you into Pat's closet after throwing up that last tequila shot in some alley in midtown. I woke up covered in hives and crumbs from the bag of Baked Lays you bought from a bodega while I purged what was left of my recent attempts at becoming an adult. I know it hurt when I chose Europe, but I have fallen asleep to the sound of the Irish Sea. I have seen the Eiffel Tower at dusk and have tasted the finest Chardonnay in Italy. Even still, I have never felt more at home than when you picked potato out of my hair in that 4 foot box and said you missed watching me sleep.