George-bashing has been a long time coming. The fiery dome and the Romanesque promenade crowning my high school. The state and the church and that dumb story about how Hoya became their nickname. My stomach in knots gaping at plaid neckties, owning the utterly unownable city, and realizing that our appetizer was remarkably garlicky. A nice little place on 44th with its unforgettable mural and an even more profound relationship to the church. It was then that my mind was decided, so I paused my world for two years.
And the stars flew past me and the planets flew past me and in front of me were a collection of colorful electronic pixels and some cheesy Christmas lights. So the spiral continued and the unbelievable ascent continued. Two vertical bars, telling me that I couldn't proceed by my own order, so I grew more indignant and less knowledgeable. Remarkably, I traveled all the way home to punch the ballot.
If lying were a crime I'd be doing a ton of time.
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