And I realized yesterday marked six fuckin’ weeks of being a homeless dirty vagabond! Despite totally forgetting this fact at the time, I celebrated in style, sitting awkwardly in a corner drinking shitty liquor in the common room of the hostel, playing on my phone and talking to no one. Fortunately before I gave up and scurried back to my dorm to wallow in self-loathing, I got in some random conversation about language(s), which quickly devolved into the kind of weirdness that only happens in liquor-lubricated conversations with total strangers, and ended up meeting two awesome girls who turned out to be kindred spirits.
Six weeks! I’ve gone round 13 states so far, I think, via bike train automobile — Wisconsin, Illinois, Missouri, Indiana, Ohio, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Virginia, DC, Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey, New York — and seen nine or ten friends I either haven’t seen in ages and fucking ages or hadn’t met in flesh at all before, met a shit-ton of people and made a couple of Actual Friends. Oh, yeah, and biked about 700 miles, give or take.
I didn’t spend as much time in Philly as I should have, nor explored it as much as I’d like to (does anyone ever spend as much time in a city as they’d like to?) but I did make it around a bit.
Soggy lovely Thursday.
Most adorable fountain ever.
Blah blah blah city blah blah blah.
This morning — Jesus Christ, that was only this morning — I dragged myself off my top-bunk throne and back onto the bike, caught the SEPTA up to Trenton — acquiring approximately 17 more bruises and losing a little more blood in the endless bike-versus-commuter-rail battle — and then NJ Transit train up to NY Penn Station. Hanging out with my friend Josh that I’ve known for like a fucking ever but haven’t seen since like 200somethingorother. We ate some $0.99 pizza and wandered around Manhattan until my knees and ankle kindly requested that NYC go fuck itself in the eye. But hey, uh, the library looked cool!
And after Jeff put on Weeping Angels episodes my last night in DC, Josh put on Coraline, so basically my friends all hate me and want to fuel my nightmares.
If nothing else at least I take stellar exhausted, wet-dog selfies. I believe this is now, literally, the only normal shirt I own, so kindly be glad no one has invented smell-through-the-internet technology yet, because wow. Someone date me.