When I was nineteen, my friends and I broke into an abandoned building. An abandoned, condemned building actually.
It was a skyscraper. The largest building in our tiny, college town. It lorded over the city – a massive, towering, thirteen-story edifice.
We were such rebels. Anthony, Jeff, David, Jason, Lori, Susan, Julie. And me.
We explored the upper floors by flashlight. And discovered a basement filled with mattresses. Aging mattresses piled four or five deep. Across an entire city block.
That’s where we spent the night. Our first camp-out together. It was totally innocent. Except for the part about the trespassing.
The only thing missing was a bottle of wine.