The rain drives constantly down, a heavy mist really.
It falls almost silently onto my black trashbag poncho, a billion tiny beads.
This is my mountain.
That t-bar doesnt run anymore, the bullwheels are still there though.
They should really build the park over there, the hot laps would be fun.
We used to take the bus up for night skiing in middle school.
Man we did some dumb shit on that bus.
Remember the time Danny snorted Hot Cheetos?
The red snot dripped down like a bloody nose.
We took a trip to Whistler when I was 13.
This wasnt powder like back home, it wasrealpowder.
I skipped the ski bus the next week, it felt like nothing would compare after that trip.
Sitting around doing nothing that night, I missed it.
No not Whistler, I missed my mountain.
