The jig is up. If I had more time I'd head for the coast, but I've got a flight tomorrow. KK said, Come to New York. Ok, I said.
The boys in the hostel have plans to hit the town hard. In the early evening I suggest I'll probably not go, on account of my morning flight. Come late evening, I know what I should do, and what I have to do. This whole trip is part of a wonderful mid/third-life crisis that I'm entertaining. The day I can't hit the town like the hammer of Thor, at the drop of a hat will be deeply sad one. I'd have to look at ending the then wasteful tatters of what used to be life.
Funnily enough, on the way to the discotheque, I'm reminded that even if I wanted to walk back early, as common sense might demand, it's not necessarily the sensible and wise choice. The reminder comes in the form of a bloody five-on-one knife fight. Apparently, when it comes to Columbian street fighting, no one can hear you scream. Not funny "ha-ha", per se.
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