Tomorrow, I'm going to get a fake i.d.
Sure, after many turnaways at Picadilly's, and turn-arounds at the LCBO, it feels legit to be legal here, but it's time I upped the ante a bit. 19? Pff... 21? It's not Vegas, but it'll do. I'll take a gamble with my pride if it means getting into any NYC hotspot or cool dig that I/we choose.
The four of us get in far, far too early on Thursday. We'll probably be groggy like pre-6 a.m. coffee, but unwilling to sleep. Me, I'm unwilling to unpack. It'll be my third ride on the Greyhound in less that a week. I'm not really living at my place, I'm not really living away from home, but for once, I'm really living. I'm not working, nor worrying, I'm just doing it all, and doing it now, as I please.
And as unproductive (and unfamiliar) as this slacker lifestyle may sound, I feel like, for once, I'm getting the most out of summer months.