Copinghagen

Copinghagen

So far, if I were to write a “36 Hours in Copenhagen” for The New York Times, it would consist of the following: See people do heroin while en route to hostel. Eat all-you-can-eat sushi with three strangers. Drink a little too much a lot too much at The Drunken Flamingo. Go to McDonalds at 4 a.m. and accidentally offer french fries to a prostitute.

Continue Reading

Dan-ish

Dan-ish

I give their hands a little squeeze before letting go and looking out the window. I can’t quite believe this is happening. The sting of the shock hasn’t worn off. And it’s not the goodbye that kills me – we were always good at those – it’s the weight of not being able to say hello again that feels unbearable.

Continue Reading

Slanted

Slanted

What followed was a series of aggressive emails, threats to be sued for “damages,” lies about a sick sister from Italy, and less than 60 days to move out and find a new place in a city with a 1 % vacancy rate where I have a better chance of finding Tupac Shakur than an affordable home.

continue reading