FOMO’s a real thing on the road. There’s always something loud, flashy, preposterous, scantily clad, or bedecked in ice cream to lure one away from what really needs doing, ie going the fuck to sleep.

So, tonight, fine people of Philadelphia, after a succession of poor decisions and at a comical 8:30pm, I’m hitting my bunk, and I don’t plan on emerging for 12 hours.

If Joel Embiid finds himself at a 90’s nostalgia show and I miss him, well, it just wasn’t meant to be.