That being said, it is good to be home. I ate a homemade dinner with the whole family, the fridge is stocked with non-microwaveable products, the floors are free of ground-in cheerios, and the walls are adorned with more than command-taped posters and white space. Oh, the dogs welcomed me home with body-slams, while the cat ignored my presence.Although I did enjoy a half-hour rest stop at a redneck Subway off interstate 85. Apparently, the sluggish pace of Subway employees is not limited to Duke alone.
I already miss Edens (who woulda guessed?) and the block. It's sad to think I'll never make another 15-minute walk to Blue Zone again, or a 5pm (sharp) dinner at the Loop with all the girls.
In memory of a great year (and the future jobs to be lost by these pictures), here are some of my favorite highlights of a year spent living in a brothel:
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