The sun is shining, the brewhouses are making pumpkin ale, football players are getting fined for celebrating*, umm, leaves are turning colors, Traders Joe is stocking novelty decorative gourds, people are buying haystacks for the first time in their city-slicking lives.
(*NFL: lay off. Geez. Take a lesson from Usain Bolt and let the players have a little fun.)
Fall is here, it’s nice, and it is super nostalgic. It’s the season of high school football, weekend trips home when you don’t like your current existence (I’m talking about college, not now), trick or treating in your nicely-sized 60-house neighborhood, awkward dates at high school dances (boy if I had a dime for every time some writer picked up THAT tired theme…), things burning, the Panther Hollow bridge a good view, listening to your new ipod as you walk through dark Shadyside streets, new opportunities! classes! plays! and you’re not sick of it yet, your family putting out Halloween decorations, sweatshirts, baseball games and the smell of hot dogs in the air before you knew that hot dogs are terrible things to eat, pumpkin picking at an actual farm where you get as many pumpkins as your dad can lift, running up and down stairs so you’ll be “in shape for ski season”, and I dunno, chestnuts roasting on an open fire or something. Wait! That’s not till Easter.
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