The hour before I leave for JFK, we go to the Chocolate Room because I need to get some gifts and food is always the easiest thing to gift. I used to live a few blocks from this Chocolate Room, used to go to the laundromat across the street, start my laundry, set a timer, come here for a cupcake and an iced caramel latte.
You buy me cupcakes for the flight, one vanilla, one chocolate. They get kind of smashed en route to the airport, but that’s fine — they’re cupcakes. I read two books on my flight back to LA, and I eat my cupcakes slowly, using the wimpy plastic stir stick that came with my wimpy coffee to scrape the frosting from the vanilla cupcake first.
I read my books, and I eat my cupcakes, and I drink a can of Coke Zero, and I think about you. I enjoy my books and my cupcakes and find the Coke Zero so totally disgusting, and I miss you. I won’t see you for another six weeks, and I think that I don’t like this, this whole long distance thing — I don’t like it at all.