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My Perfect Escape Essays

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As I shiver abruptly from the wintry Utah breeze caressing my skin, and I try to rub away the goose bumps that are forming while thoughts of a warmer place dance through my mind. I have made Utah my home as much as it has made me its homesteader, but I constantly feel like I need an escape. My solution to what many would see as a bad dream is to close my eyes and try to picture myself in a place that now seems like a far away land, a place that would be perfect in times like these because in just three hours tops I could escape into any type of haven. This place is Montgomery, Alabama, the one place from which I rarely need an escape, but many are close by if I do need one. A journey of 1,888 miles would be clocked on my SUV to make it to …show more content…

Yet, I can only deal with swollen fingers, soggy nachos, and countless games of bowling for so long. Over the years though, I wore these two places out just as I did my favorite outfits.
Once I was old enough to retire riding in the passenger seat of my mom’s car, my choices of entertainment changed. Wasting gas became a weekend ritual for my friends and me. Driving around singing Kenny Chesney at the top of my lungs or rapping every line to Lil Wayne as I attempted to dance in my seat was my sense of therapy from a long week at school. And on occasion, my friends and I would find an adventure while wandering through town, which often led to things that got us yelled at but were still highly exciting. Cemeteries and parks with signs that stated, “Closed after dark,” were the perfect place to play hide-and-seek. I do not know which was more exciting for us, the anticipation of the seeker finding us or the race to the trucks when we saw the blue and red flashing lights. Scooters and lawn tools turned us into jousters, big bouncy balls and bats allowed us to have full on baseball games involving many strangers, and running from Wal-Mart workers often became the highlights of our nights.
Once we ran out of places to go, we often hung out at my friends’ houses. Nights like that consisted of awful singing and wannabe guitar skills while playing Rock Band, intense ping-pong tournaments, and hours of goofing off. But when my “city life” and days of crashing

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