Oh my Fitzy, my dearest Fitzy. As you remember, I lost all my money betting on the Utah Jazz, and so I've been forced to find accomadations in vainglorious New York, king of the cities. I'm ever so ashamed to admit it, but I was forced to spend last night in the loneliest place on Earth--a place fit only for the underclassed and oversexed. Here is a photograph of it.
Let me teach you a thing or two about New York City, Fitzy. First of all, don't let all of the buildings fool you. At least three-quarters of the population is homeless. You'd think that there would be room enough for an upperclass (though broke) aficionado such as myself to find reasonable accomadation, but you'd be wrong. As wrong as my father.
Yes, Fitzy, I stayed in the Marriott. The shame! They were the only ones willing to accept my Discover card (what a blessing that card has been!), however, I was disgusted to find out that there were no private pools available. Instead, upon entering the public pool area, I was confronted by fake plants, non-Italian marble, and guests of average attractiveness. Instead of a pool, my dearest Fitzy, the managers of the Marriott had provided an oversized pothole filled with (uck!) Dasani water. Here is a picture of it.
I swear to God, Fitzy, I will be scoffing for the rest of my life. I will also be stuck in this city for the forseeable future, and so you should contact Teddy, Bethany, the horses, and Grandma Teddy about my predicament. They will surely scoff as well.
With Love,
Philip Brightmore, Champion Dog Breeder
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