Get Out of Town

At the end of most workweeks, could you use a culinary term to describe your physical state? Suggestions: pulverized, fried or (around about the time you pass the Larchmont station on the 5:07), lightly toasted?

Has it been some time since you’ve had a meaningful or even coherent conversation with your spouse?

Are you (choose one):
confident, somewhat confident,
not at all confident you could pick her or him out of a lineup?

Is your lust for life hiding in an undisclosed location, along with your ability to stay awake after 10 p.m.?

Or are you really and truly fine, but unwilling to devote all of your fall weekends to yard work?

If you answered yes to any of these questions,
then — and we mean this in the nicest way — hit the road, Jack. Nirvana is just three hours away, more or less. Go there.

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