It was a good time … it was the best of times. We were young and foolish and unencumbered by the burdens of adult life. Fresh out of college, we decided to take a trip together. Us. When we were still us.
I woke up with the sun spinning gold with my hair on the pillow. Days seemed to blur past like the landscape from the car window: the heat seemingly slowing the passage of time that summer.
Traci was loud and her jokes echoed in our ears throughout the day, but at night we would sit around the campfire with our silly grins; listening to the winding notes of her melancholy campfire songs. If we could distill that feeling, surely we would end up with the essence of life itself, a memory that was immortal.
We landed in Strangerville not long after that. At the time, we considered it a happy accident rather than an unfortunate one. The place had its own charm and the local pit stop and pub seemed like just our vibe.
We were energized, filled with playfulness, drunk on love, high on inspiration … on life … but slowly for some of us, questions started to emerge. How many days had we been there? What form of mixology and baking could produce these results? And … had anyone seen Traci?
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More info about Traci (and if you are considering to rewrite her tragic destiny) >HERE<
“The Hungry Cowplant Pitstop and Pub” >> HERE <<