I've Been to Hell's Kitchen and Licked Out All the Pots.

I never did get back here with those tales of ruined feeling, did I? I have a number of excuses, first and foremost: In 11 days I'm leaving New York City for western Massachusetts, in a desperate bid to reclaim my humanity. Next time I check in, I expect to have an apron of hand-picked apples.

If any of earth's produce has a better name than "Northern Spies," I don't even want to know what it is.