travis.

Travis and I met early on in our freshman year in college, and by our senior year we’d moved into one of those hand-me-down off-campus apartments that only college kids could possibly inhabit without questioning just how terribly all of the appliances worked, how threadbare the dining room carpeting was, and for how long that off-kilter, gnarled loveseat had been sitting in that unused corner of the room.  I had been a mostly-vegetarian throughout college, though I soon succumbed to a Whopper Junior one night after no longer being able to withstand the completely intoxicating aromas of Travis’ weekly midnight bacon sandwiches. 

After graduation, Travis spent a year in Boston, and then moved to London to enroll in a masters program in humanities and cultural studies — film, mostly.   In the winter of 2000-01, on a visit to London, a bunch of us — including Travis and dear Lupe — met up at Bierodrome in Islington, where we noshed on frites and washed everything down with strong Belgian ales.   I have no idea what Trav is doing in this photograph. 

A quick Google search this morning led to the discovery that that Bierodrome in Islington no longer exists, and is now the Lucky Voice Karaoke Bar.  My karaoke aversions aside, I’m pretty sure we’d all have had a blast if you’d replaced with frites and ales with mics and just enough hard liquor to make us all ignore the collective tone deafness.  (Or at least my own.)