Left to my own devices, I’m a night person. I am happiest when I stay up late, late, late and don’t emerge from my bedroom until around noon. My best writing comes at night; I’ve learned that when I try to force it in the morning nothing works.
Alas, this world just wasn’t built for people like me. Instead, I start my day with a trip to the train station before 8a, when the only thing I am good for is the liberal application of swears.
Last night I had a hankering for a banana Slurpee, after my friend Carrie had mentioned enjoying one. For various reasons, my night owl tendencies were allowed to flourish, and I convinced P to help me search for one. We made a circuit of the suburbs nearby until we found a 7-11 that had banana on tap. I felt like I was in college again, when the best cure for boredom was a trip to the 24 hour drugstore and as much hair dye as we could afford.
The reality of the Slurpee turned out to be underwhelming, to say the least, but that wasn’t the point, really.
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