Katie’s gone ferral. She’s out of control. I feel like I’m a cop on my last day before retirement who, due to a bunch of nasty mafia instigated cop-killings ends up being partnered by a chain smoking, leather jacket wearing James-Dean-a-like to wipe Don Crimeo off the streets. I hear myself saying things like: “I don’t care if your unorthodox methodologies get results – you’re gonna us both plugged.”
We’re lying low in our room today. Hopefully guests and staff alike will have forgotten everything about What Happened Last Night by the time they see us next.