Dear Laura Hall,

I know that we have never met, and you live on the other side of the ocean from me, but something tells me that if we did get to spend time together we would be the dearest of friends. At the youthful, apple-cheeked age of 20, you have already been banned from every single alcohol-serving establishment in the United Kingdom. Every one! Just because you got drunk and caused public disturbances a couple of times, everybody has to harsh your buzz and try to make you pay £2,500 if you’re spotted inside a bar or club? Do they want you never to have a life again? Do they want you to have to start meeting for dates in coffee shops or bookstores or something? They do not realize that you are a butterfly – a beautiful, intoxicated butterfly – who needs to fly and be free?

Laura, darling girl, should you free yourself of the constraints put on you by your country, come across the water and alight yourself here. There is a magical place called Brooklyn where the people are disgruntled and the beers flow freely, and in a year or so (whenever your birthday is, I don’t know, because there is not a Wikipedia page indexing your glory) you will be able to dance in the beery fountains, provided you are a proper age or get a serviceable fake ID from that guy in Washington Square Park. Be free, butterfly, and come to New York, and we will swim in rivers of Brooklyn Lager!