Is it strange that part of me is jealous of all the people New York? It's like all your friends are off to war, and you have to stay put and read about it in the newspaper. They come home and have been through something together. It might be a trauma, but still.
I imagine everyone sitting in their cosy homes, playing endless games of monopoly and finishing bottles of whiskey and gin. I could've read War and Peace in its entirety, while outside trees and houses soared by, and streets filled up with water.
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