Member-only story
To the smashed folks catching the first 5:35 am train at Grand Central.
I wanted to dish out some candid observations and a sprinkle of sarcasm about the unique breed of humans I encounter while catching the 5:35 AM train at Grand Central.
While you’re probably snuggling in your bed, I’m off to Mount Vernon on select weekends, ready to conquer 10 to 15 miles at Rockefeller State Park with my friend. The routine? Wake up at the ungodly hour of 4 AM and reach the station by 5. But here’s the twist: it’s not the early morning chirping birds that greet me, but a different flock altogether.
Enter the night warriors — the semi-drunk (or fully drunk, who’s counting?) party animals who seem to have mastered the art of walking in a straight line despite being washed out. Seriously, how do your livers still manage? Aren’t you guys worried about, I don’t know, surviving till 30? And is this really your idea of a fun night out? Just boozing? Seems like a one-way ticket to liver frown-town to me.
What goes on in those wild city nights? As a medic, I’ve heard enough horror stories to write a book. Where do you all vanish to? Just pub hopping? And hey, I’m pretty sure not all of you are 18. Do your parents have a magical chill pill, or are they just…
