Okay, what the hell just happened.
You want to know where I'm writing from? St John's. St John's, Newfoundland.
But wait you say. Aren't I supposed to be in Kingston, Ontario? Yes, except that the entire Kingston plan was a ruse, planned for the last two months by my dear friend and boss Sarah. I got to the airport and found out that there was no Kingston, and that I was on a plane to the Rock.
I don't know what to say, except that instead of five days of hellish work, I am drunk as hell at 5:00pm on George Street in Newfoundland, sorrounded by the single greatest birthday present I've ever had. This is insane, I will write hungover tomorrow.
Nick
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1 comment:
Sarah is brilliant.
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