In which I am predictable

I should know by now that on the last day of any trip, I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to see anyone. I just want to go home. However, I didn’t take this into account when I booked my flight, so here I am in the Oakland airport, having shelled out ten bucks for the wifi (curse you, Oakland) (curse you too, Internet addiction), waiting waiting waiting to get on the plane.

Also predictable: that my favorite piece from the Vivienne Westwood exhibit that I went to with literaticat would be this one:

Book Print suit, Exploration collection, 2001

The print was made from a photo of Westwood’s actual bookshelves.

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