It's getting late. It's getting dark. You're starving. The only restaurant in a 5 mile radius is practically attached to your hotel and it's a McDonald's (ok kind of a bonus for me, but not one of the cute McDonald's they have where people live).
You exit your van and look around. You think it has to be joke because surely no sane New Yorker would expect you to stay here for not one but TWO nights.
Well...they do...
You walk to McDonald's, hoping you peel off your Monopoly stickers and win a free McFlurry just to make this hell feel worth it. Then you find out they're out of ice cream anyway, so you cap off the meal with an apple pie because you're that depressed.
And then you leave McDonald's, ready to retire to your bedbug infested room wishing you had a bottle of Tylenol PM to make the pain go away.
AND THIS IS WHAT YOU SEE.
Somebody legitimately drove their John Deere tractor to the same hotel you dragged your Ralph Lauren luggage across the gravel to sleep in.
What can you, America, do to help?
Pray that your alleged God eventually has mercy on my soul.
Oh hey, look at that. The door to my room doesn't lock.
I hope those stains are actually just a pattern,
TJB: Making It
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