A couple of my high school friends and I hung out around Main Street today. We hopped from Udon West to Quickly to boutiques sharing stories for about seven hours.
The stories varied from recent break-ups, new-found dates, to certain deaths, minimal threats, supernatural stories, dares, advice, and other girlie chitter-chatter that could fill a noisy room to its maximum.
We all needed it. At least, that's how it felt.
Stories were exchanged at a rapid pace. At one point, I was between two conversations going on my left and on my right. At another point there would also be three conversations going on, and somehow we all kept up despite the sporadic bathroom breaks we each had.
Change wasn't too evident. We were still the same except we all seemed to possess sharper tongues to specify that Pandora let men out of her box (thank you Jenny for that idea). Feminism hovered above our table like a flat gray Rochester cloud-sheet during the winter quarter. I might have fanned that flame all too well.
On a lighter note, we also confirmed that we would keep in touch for as long as we can (forever and ever and ever until the 19th of NEVER). And that I would have cute babies?
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