You’re welcome, Hastings.
Seriously our little town on the river does not get enough credit. It is simply magical. Would I want to be a permanent fixture at the Roadhouse smoking Newports? Probably not. But a week or two back in the HOH really does the body good.
Your trash cans might get tossed while an Asian-American that sounds like Cartman screams at you from a bull horn.
You might wind up in a basement on NYE that will be the basis for the most infamous home movie ever made in the Rivertowns history.
You can end up driving around aimlessly with your friends listening to mixes you made in 10th grade and not hate it.
You will – without a doubt – run into a gifted athlete from Albania.
You can rep yo hood and pretend like you’re really from the Y-O and talk shit to Dobbs hoes.
You can obviously get sent to do the same ridiculous errands and chores by your parents and rub elbows with the can man down at the dump, or bump into the Frisby Weisel at Reynolds.
You can make googly eyes at your first love, run the light at 5 corners, grab a jawbreaker at Festivities, walk the dog in the woods near the keg sites, and immerse yourself in the friends you’ve had since you traded slap bands, pogs, and boogers in the back playground of Hillside.