I am, in this particular moment in time, extra-hard-chillin' at Tomokazu, the poorly-reviewed ramen establishment that exists directly across the hall from XpresSpa in the international terminal at San Francisco International.
I'm at Tomokazu because ramen sounded better to me than pizza and I'm at the airport because I'm airplane flying tonight. The destination on my boarding pass tells me I should eventually wind up in Singapore and, according to my calendar, although today is Tuesday I will not get to said destination until Thursday which is, in a word, crazy-go-nuts.
I've been traveling a lot lately and therefore consider my packing game to be quite polished, but since I haven't been to Singapore before the contents of my suitcase seem somewhat rambling. In fact, inside of my roller bag are two button-down shirts, a couple of neck-ties and a pair of booty shorts, all very neatly folded, plus Converse sneakers, a swimsuit and a stack of undershirts noticeably devoid of any wit or pizzaz so as not to offend in the event that folks residing across the world find the word 'funcle' offensive.
Also, this ramen’s pretty good.