I’m not a student of architecture or Urban Planning, but I know firsthand how a place and its people can alter your personality.
The running joke is that I’m Daria to Jessica’s Quinn: I have dark hair and glasses, she is a red pixie. I’m known for my sarcasm and a low threshold for tolerating douchebaggery, she’s known for never meeting an adventure she didn’t want to take. Sometimes I dress like an 80 year old woman, sometimes she dresses like Bianca Jagger.
Left to my own devices I will hole up in my house, watch terrible television, and eat my body weight in nachos. Not even good nachos… shitty ones I made in the microwave that only has cheddar cheese and taco sauce on them. Basically, if I could, I’d be a hermit with scurvy.
sent me twelve text messages about the Pad Thai at the farmer’s market and to shut her up, I put on pants (didn’t brush my hair, because fuck you, that’s why), and shuffled over. I was what my friends would call “delightfully crabby” and everyone else would term “bitch”.
2nd St. Then we went for a stroll down to the river and listened to a band play in front of the Beat Shop. Stop and ask yourself this if you don’t currently live in Troy: have you ever randomly stumbled on a live band playing on the street next to yours? What about a secret fair?