It doesn't feel like 5:06am, does it?
Tonight we went to the high school at midnight and walked out onto the football field. This is all in accordance with my preoccupation with fulfilling my duties as a teenager. Because I will be twenty in July. And one rule collectively agreed upon by teenagers worldwide is that you must go and lie in your high school's football field. Kirsten Dunst did it. So I did it. I essentially do whatever Kirsten Dunsty does. I wear a WWKD bracelet. I digress.
Yeah, but so we did. And it was like a dream or a story. Like "and so the three best friends ignored the momentous dampness of the grass and lay there, staring at the night sky, hoping the cops wouldn't show up and ruin everything." Like one of those. One of those stories. Those ones. Looking back, I wish I'd pretended to make a touchdown or something. I think I was really meant for athletics. I look good in cleats.
Also enjoyable was the four of us at a table at the seediest, most loved restaurant in town. I think if someone was looking in the window at us, they might have said--"Looks like the gang's back together." Because I felt at that moment I had a group of friends one might refer to as a "gang" and not in the Latin King sense, either. This is one of those things that's going to sound ridiculous when it's not 5am, isn't it. Shit.
Well, as long as I'm here. GUESS WHAT. I hate that freshman year is over. It was actually the best. Hear that, all other years? You lose.
It was. It was perfect. I'll bet sophomore year is wigging out right now, frantically trying to pull together a better set list than this year's. Poor thing.
Still,
as much as I miss New York and bubble tea and lawns and libraries and avenues,
I'm still really happy when I drive down Washington Street. That's a pretty street.
Yeah, but so we did. And it was like a dream or a story. Like "and so the three best friends ignored the momentous dampness of the grass and lay there, staring at the night sky, hoping the cops wouldn't show up and ruin everything." Like one of those. One of those stories. Those ones. Looking back, I wish I'd pretended to make a touchdown or something. I think I was really meant for athletics. I look good in cleats.
Also enjoyable was the four of us at a table at the seediest, most loved restaurant in town. I think if someone was looking in the window at us, they might have said--"Looks like the gang's back together." Because I felt at that moment I had a group of friends one might refer to as a "gang" and not in the Latin King sense, either. This is one of those things that's going to sound ridiculous when it's not 5am, isn't it. Shit.
Well, as long as I'm here. GUESS WHAT. I hate that freshman year is over. It was actually the best. Hear that, all other years? You lose.
It was. It was perfect. I'll bet sophomore year is wigging out right now, frantically trying to pull together a better set list than this year's. Poor thing.
Still,
as much as I miss New York and bubble tea and lawns and libraries and avenues,
I'm still really happy when I drive down Washington Street. That's a pretty street.