As I stood in the cold, quiet PATCO subway station waiting for the delayed eastbound train bound for Camden, I stamped my numbed feet one long walk in the snow away from frostbite and remembered what I said earlier to Nuevo and Pickle about the plan this weekend:
“I’m going to make a memory.” Once I decided it was still on, I was going to find a way back to Princeton for my going away dinner, and I was going to make the getting there an event to remember.
We had spent the evening drinking in some old, large Irish pub. At least I think it was Irish, I’m pretty sure it was. The place looked very old, so old, in fact a city had been built up around it, its entrance now down some alley, next to a parking garage.