Freedom to be a Stereotype

I’m sick of gossipy houses and paper-thin walls.

I’m tired of California towns where wildfire rumors spread faster than actual wildfires. I want freedom.

My own brand of freedom.

My own special corner of a city my family hasn’t touched.

My own dorm with a roommate that snores too loudly but you don’t care because they’ve got a good heart and show you cool their cool new folk pop music and you don’t mind the little reminder that they exist they’re probably tired anyway after that bonfire with the girl that juggled fire and the drinks that went down Hot and Hard but tasted like tootsie pops burning your throat like the fire burned the girl’s hand you patched it up with the Rum-Soaked Sleeves of your flannel and walked all the way home with torn sleeves and a purple patch on your ripped jeans with your favorite band that matches your hair cherishing every minute away from home even if it’s spent taking your friend to urgent care not giving half a damn this makes you a Teenage Rebel the Archetype the Stereotype because all stereotypes exist for a reason and your Marxist roommate says that reason has always existed but not in a reasonable form and Monterey was the Ugly Unreasonable Force saying leave town let go be yourself make us proud but whoa don’t just forget about us yet here you smoking on the beach of Another Ocean forgetting your past forgetting your old friends family pets house lovers and enemies but most of all letting go of and forgetting the lesson you’ve been Carefully Carving into your head for years that  You’re Not Invincible

That’s the kind of freedom I’m going for.