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Photo Credit: The Peninsula New York
There’s a particular kind of exhaustion that only New York understands.
Not the glamorous kind — not the backseat-of-a-black-car, posted-from-downtown, living-my-best-life version. I’m talking about the fully depleted, mildly delirious, “how am I still upright?” variety that arrives somewhere in the collision zone between too many flights, too little sleep, chronic overcommitment, and — in my case, with genuinely terrible…
