Last week (was it last week? It feels like a month ago!) I met with Devon, Ebert, and Charity for a Duffy Street Reunion.
Our little home on Duffy Street is where many of my most cherished memories from the past four years were housed. (Literally, figuratively, you get the point.)
We had some hard times, we had a lot of good times, we had a crummy landlord, and we had creepy crawly things in the basement. It's where Dusty and I fell in love, where we watched the Colts win the Super Bowl, and where we hosted many many game nights for our friends.
Mistakes were made in that house, friendships were strengthened in that house, and a lot of homework was avoided in that house!
If the walls could talk they would tell about the girls who were late to class, planning a wedding, watching LOST, and drinking Jones Soda. They would tell about all the instruments that called that house home, about the Hummer parked in the driveway for a week, and about the wild parties we witnessed our neighbors have from the kitchen window. (Trash cans as a beer cooler anyone?)
And all those memories were made for only, (insert Dewayne Squires voice here): "One eighty-seven fifty!"