Dan Kennedy didn’t look at all like what I’d assumed he would. If I had to guess, the voice I listened to in my iPod belonged to man in his early thirties—tall, brown hair, chiseled face, dapperly dressed, and quietly handsome in an intellectual manner. He donned a sophisticated pair of spectacles that rested high on his classically elegant nose.
Is there anything in this world as delicious-feeling as arriving home after an eleven-hour-long trip, taking a warm shower, and then filling a hungry stomach with warm, deliciously marinated tofu and an icy cold, sweet, and slightly tart orange?
No, there isn’t.
The flavours of this orange that are currently bursting in my mouth as I type these words! No mortal words can describe this wondrous taste explosion! The juiciness, the freshness, the crispness, the joy that is a good Trader Joe’s orange! Sigh. Oranges — when at their zenith of orangey goodness — are the only fruit I’ve experienced in my life that has ever forced me to reassess my die-hard loyalty to the watermelon as “Best fruit in the world”.
But I digress.
Two days late is still better than never. Here are a few things that I am thankful for in my life.
After a month of anticipation, the night had finally come to take off: we were on our way to New York. As I watched my dad drive away in our blue Accord, excitement filled me like delicious crème filling. I grinned widely at Haley and let out several happy squeals. In just a few short hours, we would be standing in Greenwich Village, and best of all, I would get to see Jimmy again and we would all hang out like we used to.
“Okay Haley, be sure to get some sleep on the plane ride okay?” I said in a very solemn voice. “Otherwise, you’re not going to be able to make it through our first day in New York”.
Sort of, anyway. In a mere thirty short minutes, I will finally be on the way to San Francisco International Airport with my good friend by my side and the promise of an interesting two weeks ahead in the city that never sleeps.
How exciting!!
More to come, live from the Big Apple.
Nighttime is the loneliest time.
My ears catch the sound of soft footsteps outside and my right arm quickly snaps to the lamp switch that’s within convenient proximity. With my hand still resting on the switch, I sit cross-legged on my bed in the sudden darkness, frozen. Finally after a few seconds, I hear that sound I’ve been waiting for: the soft clicking of another lamp switch in the living room and the sound of approaching footsteps that walk past my locked door and into the room where my dad is snoring. There is the soft swish and squeak of a bedroom door being closed and I relax. My nighttime has begun.
