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The sun peeked over the horizon, casting soft blues and reds across the sky. The wind whipped through my hair as I cruised down the quiet highway, with the sweet sounds of Kansas' "Carry on Wayward Son" blasting from my car speakers.
taking a glance at the dash and saw the clock read 5:20am. With an exhausted sigh, I wondered how much longer it would take to get to the place I swore I would never return to. after driving nonstop for six hours from Arizona. It's been three days since I left New Orleans, seeking a change of pace. But something was calling me back. Maybe it was Chloe's constant nudge to come back.
"What am I doing?" I muttered to myself with a puzzled frown. Suddenly, a sign appeared in my headlights, prompting me to pull over and take a closer look. And there, in front of me, the sign quietly read...
𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬
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As I switched off the engine, I gazed thoughtfully up at the sign above me. Memories of my first visit to this town a decade ago came rushing back to me
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|| C H I C A G O ||
2001
17-year-old Reagan
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