Virginia, the Departure

Some memories I will leave for later. In short, it was studying human dynamics that made Virginia tolerable. The Conor-Quinten dynamic. The apartment of hard-asses vs. high-schoolers. My daily trips to the bathroom with Kristen, window-shopping at the vending machine on the way back. It does smell mostly unpleasant in my spot here at the bus stop, cigarette smoke coming towards me– more than a romanticized gentle waft. Shoulders still slightly sore from wrestling. Muscles resting on glass behind me, glass that reflects my hoop hugging suitcase, bright Burton bag, bright shorts. It was the best way to go. Surrounded by light drinking. Card ninja shenanigans. Jamming with a newfound respect of Jacob’s rhythm. Percussion with glass bottles and Conor’s translucent blue plastic hamper. Patting, tapping, punching the inside. Shalika and Katie nestled under the counter, chatting. Quinten on the far side of the table, also joining in on this unreal mirth. Ron likely narrating the night, maybe less of a critic in our final moments. And Kevin and I are jamming away the departure. A night honed in on being. This company, this almost dreamlike stupor of reality, makes a fleeting moment of infinite happiness.

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