the roof, the roof, the roof is on fire

Dear Brianna,

Remember last night when we drank that wine that comes in a jug? Carlo Rossi Sangria? Yeah, it was gross.

Valentine's day was another "success" as in nothing bad happened. EXCEPT, I did get to see a table fire at BAM, and that was amazing. The bus boys were panicking and had no idea what to do, and I couldn't help but laugh. I'm still battling with that case of asshole I just can't seem to get over.

OoOo, guess what I decided today? I'm going to take myself to Europe when I graduate. I want to go to London, and Paris, and Rome, and and and AMSTERDAM! I'm going to smoke weed and it will be legal! Think of it B! No repercussions! And then I'm going to have a torrid affair with an Italian man who only speaks one language--the language of love. We both speak it. We don't need to say anything, we let the love do the speaking. Then, when it's time for me to come back to NY, I'll leave him a note, and on the inside will be a sketch of a heart ripped in two. He'll know that that means we can never see each other again, you know, in love speak. Sometimes, when I'm looking at the Manhattan skyline out of my Brooklyn window, I will think of him and the love we shared. I will blow a kiss and know that somewhere, where ever he is, he'll catch it and bring that kiss close to his heart. He'll whisper into the Italian night air "Amore" and I will catch it with my eardrums and send it to my heart via my blood stream. This will go on for a few weeks after I return, until I fall in love with a new Swedish tourist that speaks the language of dreams. A language we both speak.

love,
Katie :)