time to leave new york.

you wake up in the middle of the night having dreamt of (a) sitting in a classroom with nick denton and mustering the courage to call him an asshole, but realizing he did his homework and you didn't, and therefore finding yourself reluctantly conceding that, say what you will about him, the man has his shit together and (b) listening to maer roshan tell you, earnestly, that the dugout of life is full of people who are looking for their second--hell, third--chance to hit a home run, that there's no reason you shouldn't have another shot at swinging the bat. And agreeing that this is probably the most profound thing you have heard in quite some time.