Whelp, I finally moved out of the hostel. It was fun, but there’s only so long a guy in his high twenties can share a room with four people and live in a bunk bed. I still think there’s a better than average chance I’ll become a submarine captain, in which case I may have to live in bunks while they renovate my cabin. Otherwise I’m inclined to seek proper adult lodging.
My only regret from the experience is realizing that the kitten and I had matching ties after the kitten and her owner moved out. How great would that have been?!
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6 Comments
Man, what number are we on for “stay out of our hostel notes” with you?
5…
99…
687…
1000000000000…
I’m making a coffee table book!
“I was born in 1992[...]”
And therein lies the real problem.
The day will come when we have normal, rational conversations with people born in an entirely different century. *shudder*
I myself have witnessed firsthand Heaton’s fork thievery and binge drinking – over the course of one horrific night which I will likely never be able to fully suppress, I saw both at the same time. *Raises glass* Here’s to you, exotic dancer “Peaches”, scattered as you are in multiple trash bags across fifteen miles of Nevada desert…you will be missed.
She looked at me funny.