It’s all about to pop

Four years ends right here. With the pop of a bottle we raised a glass of street-side bubbly to all those endless classes and one final exam. We shrugged off all those a, b, and all of the aboves: gave hugs, high-fives, and smiles.

We did it. The final features have been pumped onto the web and printed out on glossy magazine pages. Documentaries have been cut and screened. Our CVs are stocked, jobs have been won or lost; new plans made to replace our school days.

With that it was off the pub for pitchers of beer, time to get hazy and say all those things we’d been meaning to mention over a semester spent grunting hellos and rushing off to finish what we started.

As we looked around the patio the faces we saw weren’t the ones we’d heard about back home when we announced we’d be heading off to journalism school. Not competitive bastards inching their way to top the media ladder. Instead we’d found shoulders to lean on, friends to act as editors: people we needed.

And when I got home I found two I’d leaned on all semester. One fast asleep in my bed, another using my scanner, both glad I’d returned. Though we’ll soon walk in different directions, I promise to them: I’ll always return.

See you bastards tonight at prom.