SW got up and out while I snoozed, packed and showered. I wandered the block in search of a good deli, only to find the neighborhood lacking. I hopped in a cab and caught the rest of the gang in the East Village where they were dejected to find SW’s museum open at 11, but not giving tours until 1. We couldn’t stick around that late, so we had lunch at Katz Deli, famous since 1888.
We got our leftovers to go and headed out the door. We had to hustle to meet our ride back to the airport.
The flight back was tiresome. We were all beat from the trip and wanted nothing more than a nap but some obnoxious New Yorker behind us talked loudly the entire flight – about golf – where he had golfed, where he wanted to golf, how much he had spent on golf, who they were going golfing with next, all at the top of his lungs. I now know more about this man's golfing exploits than I know about my own vacation.