Don't Get Cocky Kid

A Rare Moment of Slight Sappiness: A Toast

Here’s to the English garden and the murder room. To the PBRs, the Gansets, the Modelos, and the Gritty’s. Here’s to Atwood’s, to Al’s, to New Deal, and to East Coast. Here's to friends that have come and gone, to those that have never left, and those yet to arrive. to those ominous Dutch Masters and the bitter Olde English. Here’s to sweaty sticky Summers, and the cold and bitter Winters. To trips, to distant lands, and to places not on any map. Here’s to Batman. To the Lions, Crusaders, and Sachems. Here’s to dragon slayers and ticket payers. To bike rides to nowhere, and burritos in the square. Here’s to heartbreak, and missed chances. To strokes of genius and flashes of inspiration. Here’s to category fives and Saturday girls. To the nights we never wanted to end, and to the mornings we never thought would come. Here’s to the hog. To a local wizard and a soulful ninja. Here’s to neighbors both in proximity and in mind. Here’s to the world champs, and to those who were nearly perfect. To deadlines met, missed, and moved. Here’s to Koopa Troopa beach. To the hundreds of thousands of virtual lives lost. Here’s to Cadbury Eggs and indestructible friendships. To freestyles, open mics, and good talks. Here’s to 2012. To one more round, just one more round. Here’s to full tanks, and empty glasses. Here’s to safer travels.

Here is to all of those souls who have rested their head, imbibed, relaxed, let their hair down, or just sat back and took it all in.

Here is to the apartment we’ve called our place, our crib, our home. Here’s to Fulkerson.