So I'm out to lunch with my coworkers, enjoying the roller-rink smell and country music. There are eight of us, and spread along a table, so that pockets of small combination form. It's not personal thing, it's just easier to talk to someone over your left and right shoulders than across the room. And suddenly I hear my dear colleague- let's call her Mary- discussing the Naked Mile.
Now, let me paint you a word picture. Remember your first grade teacher? She was old and fat and looked like she enjoyed making meatloaf. This is Mary.
Then she gracefully segues into her story about Hash Bash in Ann Arbor when she was a youngun'. And just hearing her talk about it, I realized something.
That kid that sits in the back of the bus who uses the same twenty-four words for his conversation, the girl who's always talking about her last weekend in the club, the one guy that always wears jeans and t-shirts and smells a bit like cheap beer.... they don't kill them after graduation. These kids grow up and become normal people, with jobs and hobbies....
And somehow these memories, of being these kids. I don't know how that works....
I honestly wonder what I'll think of myself when the time comes.
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