This old house
In May, I couldn’t leave Bloomington fast enough. I aimed my car north-northwest and gunned it. Four-and-a-half hours of pedal-to-the-metal and I never once looked back. Spring semester had been stressful and seemed to last at least a whole year and a half. Besides, I had a really cool summer job lined up. What could be more fun and less stressful than spending a summer as a camp counselor in Maine?







