Zipping down sidestreets at nearly midnight with nothing beneath me but two wheels and pavement, I name you MATTITTITTI. There's Thai food waiting at home (and I don't even like Thai food, baby) and Thai food waiting behing me (though that Thai food wasn't so bad) and all I can think about is, how can I make this trip last longer and longer and longer than it should? What happens when I'm home and I don't know what to do with myself because I'm not moving 11.9 miles per hour?
No, I know what I'll do. I'll pour peroxide on my knuckles and bandage them tight, and I'll think, Hell, at least I have all of my toenails. And written on my ankle, in blue ink: is ANKLE.
Mattittitti, he takes me where I need to be, even though it's away from where I might rather stay.