If I Could Start Again
Postscript: P.S. I Love You Essay #135
Published in
13 min readJun 18, 2021
It was 3 a.m. and I was stoned to the fucking skies, man. I was not yet 21. I’d just finished a late-night serving shift at IHOP in Buffalo, New York, which meant I spent about six hours working, and another 90 minutes in the back parking lot toggling between hotboxing in some nameless degenerate’s rusted-out sedan, shivering, and learning to skateboard poorly.
