erinire.net

I’m sitting in Logan airport. It’s barely past 5am. I’ve been up since 4, and I fell asleep at 2, and I kind of feel like I’ve just passed a bottle of Tabasco through my rectum. Logan radio is playing soft rock, the Starbucks is playing some kind of hybrid house compilation that would feel right at home in a mid-90s raver spoof.

My nose is runny.

I’m tired.

I don’t care about Jamaica anymore, people. Logan airport blows.