How do you spend a Sunday night before payday when there's a potentially historic blizzard approaching? Watching Melancholia, baking your last half-pound of curly fries, and wearing Canada Goose to bed, that's how. To think that 48 hours ago, on Saturday, I was biking carefree down Madison Avenue and Central Park Drive while listening to a blend of Digable Planets, Chief Keef, Lupe Fiasco, and Future. To think that 24 hours from now, me and my bike will be buried in snow, among pebbles of salt and rat carcasses.
If I freeze to death, remember me like Whitney Houston.