Everything Except Monday

Monday morning has one speed and it’s wrong. Everything about it—the light, the alarm, the way the city starts its engine before you’ve had a chance to object—registers as a personal affront. The list of things I’d rather do is genuinely infinite: wash the dog, kick a traffic light, drink vodka at eight in the morning, water the plants, kiss strangers, quit something, start something else. Anything.

Or put on Never Wake Up. Which, as mixtape titles go, is exactly the right sentiment for a Monday.