Memories…
As I type this, there is a middle-aged gentleman lighting a glass pipe dead center in the middle of my alleyway. He keeps looking around to make sure no one can see him. You know, in the middle of a road.
Well, I can see you, sir.
And you’ll be one of my last memories of Bellefonte. Just you, in your puffy, disgusting sports team jacket, exhaling huge clouds of pot smoke. Thank you.