“I had just boarded an 86th Street Crosstown bus today when the driver got on the intercom and declared we were on the ‘Party Bus.’ During the 10 minutes I was on the bus, he told five jokes over the intercom, made everyone smile at the person to their left, and conducted a guessing game involving three-letter body parts. On two separate occasions he made everyone on the bus sing Happy Birthday in honor of passengers who had birthdays ‘coming up in the next couple weeks or so.’”
Today involved breakfast on a skillet, a raging kitchen fire, the brutal realization that I can’t have 26 hours in my workday, 90 terrible minutes in a Long Island Walmart, Nutella and this beautiful, beautiful song.
In the past week and a half, I’ve seen New York light up from the top of the Rockefellar Center, crossed an ocean, watched the sunrise over the coast of France, checked out the Eiffel Tower and London from the sky, sipped wine in the Paris airport, partied in the Edinburgh Castle, walked through a palace, ridden through a fake distillery in a whiskey barrel, explored an underground city, chased some bagpipes, spotted some unicorns, hung out with my family, flown over Iceland and Greenland, eaten Bolton’s spicy chicken and spent the better part of a day hunting down pumpkin ale around Nashville.
Now I’m just appreciating home before I turn around and leave it again. Next up: Sufjan and sibling time.