If Phoebe Bridgers Wrote “Scott Street” About the Vernal Erasure of the First Years

Hello, Gambier! Remember us? We moved out two weeks ago and you seem to have forgotten us. Plan Ahead put us all on the naughty list, and we’re settling back into the bedrooms our parents made into storage spaces for yarn and the YA fiction of yesteryear. It feels like yesterday that we were parading around Gund Commons, printing out our silly little English 103 readings and gossiping about how the silly little lacrosse team made the couches into their NCA (something that Gommons simply isn’t).

Needless to say, when we got the email that told us that because half of us nimrods are taking Quest, Kenyon thought it would be cool to make us go remote after our first taste of freedom from our hometowns, we were less than enthused. So we retired to our childhood bedrooms/storage spaces. Can we even say “my childhood bedroom” if we were only gone 3 months? Did our dreamscapes invent Gambier? It’s okay, because we know that the queen of detachment from reality and bathing in sorrow on purpose, Phoebe Bridgers, has our backs. This is what she would croon to us to make us feel better about spending the next eight months separated from America’s playground, Gambier, Ohio.

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