[Poem a Day] “Happy Hour”

Check out today’s post on Instagram. 

I don’t think our bar habit came out of any particular reliance on alcohol to get by, or any particular dislike of the lectures we were skipping to make it to our usual seats by the time happy hour rolled around (don’t judge – I was subsisting off of $5 highball gin and tonics).

I think at least a little portion of it was fear. Or maybe a dull, throbbing uncertainty that was always kind of there when we went to college. You took your classes and you got by, but you were really only maybe half sure of what you wanted to do with these lessons you were dropping some major bank for. At the old place on Paterson, there was no uncertainty. You knew what you wanted, and you called it out. And you left at the end of the night feeling better for it.

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