I can't even make sense of it.
We are fuck-ups, so of course we had to stop in Roosendaal, get ridiculously stoned, then take a later train to Brussels. Upon arriving in Brussels we discovered that our airport was actually an hour away. That was at 8 o'clock. The train that could take us to our airport came at 8:30. Our flight took off at 9:35. We were bummed. We had REALLY fucked up this time.
We got out at Brussels and ran to a cabbie.
"How fast can you get us to Charledor airport?!" We got in.
190 km an hour on the speedometer. Rap blasting from his system. 200 Euro cab ride.
We made the fucking flight!
I'm a few beers in. There's some turbulence.
I'M GOING TO DUBLIN FOR ST. PATRICK'S DAY!!!
-LL
We always did everything last-minute at the Castle, and the joke was that we always made it everywhere we wanted to go, always had the most fun, and everything just always worked out for us. When we'd all been accepted to the Castle program the one thing we talked about, and this was our freshman year TWO years prior, was how we would go to Ireland for St. Patty's Day. When we got to Brussels and realized that we had really, really screwed up the one thing we had really wanted, I just felt so crushed. Everyone in the train station told us that we would never make it.
The cab ride to the airport in that black Mercedes was just insane adrenaline pumping through our veins as he played Dr. Dre's The Next Episode on repeat. When we made it to the airport, got on the plane and cracked open celebration beers, we were all absolutely elated. Not only that, but once again we had NOT learned our lesson. We had our pot and smoked it too.
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