Nonsense to commence in...
Wednesday 5 PM. My best friend Adrienne and I make the excruciating rush hour traffic drive from the Fort Lauderdale area to Miami International Airport. A drive on empty streets to the same location would take us 35 minutes; we get to the airport a full two hours later. Adrienne's along with me simply for the experience of London: She knows nothing of football (she calls it "soccer"), or this Champions League final ("What is that thing called you're going to see again?"). Yet, we've been friends since elementary school.

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