I had just turned 21 when I realized I had to go. I had dropped out of college after my
first year, moved back to my hometown, and was working a nowhere job. I was pining away for an old
girlfriend, living in an awful little apartment and drove a sad excuse for a car that didn’t have
reverse most of the time. Some family friends had visited the Virgin Islands and showed me pictures
of the trip, and I saw a bunch of young kids about my age in the periphery of the photos.
