Her words hit me like a shovel. I was so taken aback. I had never heard the season of summer be used as a verb.
Looking out over the quieted Upper Campus below and the humblingly beautiful sky above him, it’s sunsets like this that he knows he’ll miss next semester.
It’s a Saturday night at Boston College, and the freshman returns to his dorm, triumphantly still a little bit drunk from the off-campus party he attended for all of 19 minutes. Upon entering his building, however, he is caught in the middle of a smokescreen.
Sometimes, the cliché narrative of popular musicians selling the soul of their artistry to rise to the top of the charts becomes far too evident to ignore.
At around 7:57 p.m. (although the website says 8:00), BC dining closes its doors in Mac. The sliding doors come together prematurely and suddenly, and hungry students hoping to sneak in at the last minute and eat a dinner not consisting of fried foods often have their spirits crushed at the sight of the gray barrier in front of them.
In the shadow of Fenway Park, there is a venue that offers an escape from the rest of the world. Young people can take refuge from their busy college lives and enter a chamber of carefree spirit and fantastic acoustics.
Truly, they were coming up, and they were going to get this party started.
It’s hard to not be caught up in everything that takes place in the present. It’s what everyone is doing, so it has to be the only thing that matters, right?
Upperclassmen warned us. The signs were in the stars: 25 percent of freshmen live on CoRo.
Today is the day. All of the pent up agony and testosterone of the freshman class will soon erupt in elation … or in despair.