Where's Bruce?

On a heavenly plane of Irish whiskey and dark women; no brakes, no regrets, no demons.

Last Monday, I heard the sound of an incoming call through Instagram, and it lit me right up. Thank fuck, I thought; just the person I needed seventy-two hours after my boyfriend walked out on me a la oneway flight to NYC—of course, Bruce intuitively knew and was calling on me to give bitchfest. He is the only one who could understand the trapped and lo…