I’m from Camby, Indiana. I go to school in Mooresville, Indiana. Most of the surrounding schools call us “Moore-tucky,” a hybrid between us and the evidently similar Kentucky. About ten minutes away from my high school is the birthplace of the KKK, everyone drives a pickup truck, and I’m probably the only person within a ten mile radius who ever even thought about dying my hair an unnatural color. As you can probably guess, I did not anticipate missing a single thing about my hometown when I moved to New York for college. And generally, I don’t. I’m happy to say I haven’t seen a pair of cowboy boots or a cornfield since I’ve been here. I don’t at all miss majority of the people in my graduating class and I am absolutely elated that no one has asked to take me to a mud fest as though this would be my idea of a perfect or even mediocre date. But sometimes I miss cul-de-sacs and riding in cars that aren’t driven by strangers. And I love all the pizza here, but I can’t believe you guys don’t have Chic-fil-a. I talk a lot of shit about Mooresville, but, looking back, it wasn’t terrible and talking shit was half the fun. I guess I didn’t think there was anything to miss when I left. It puts it into perspective I think. Moving to a city like New York was the best thing that has happened to me, but being born in a small town wasn’t so bad either.
