The future is less what I'm hoping for than I hoped it would be.
The sun rarely shines in Ann Arbor. Everything is old and broken. The pavement is cracked and littered with red cups. That mailbox on the corner is laying on it's side as often as not. Three hours until summer. I hope the Arb lives up to my expectations. There aren't any sheets on my bed right now. I'll sleep in the grass from now on.