by emily wilner  The hotel is under construction. We’’ve left our super classy and extremely effective Country- Time-lemonade-and-12-shots concoction somewhere in a snowbank along the way, for the birds. For the birds! My drunken companion, who had been carrying the drink, keeps repeating this in a loud, singsongy voice and throwing her arms up toward…

When people ask about your summer, you remain tight-lipped. You don’t want to talk about those first few sleepless nights in your pristine apartment, the days spent inventorying your clothing and the kitchenware your mother so painstakingly stacked in the stark white cabinets. Or how you would have Your Boyfriend over so you could play…