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.