These Springstein songs remind me of my college boyfriend Drew from Bergen County, New Jersey. I have memories of us in Paramus Park Mall on Christmas eve shopping for presents of each other, and then how it was snowing when we left and how we were sliding backwards down this hill. Then driving across Jersey to visit some friend of his who lived next to a Hershey chocolate factory I think, and having to throw coins into all those darn toll booths. And hanging with him and his friends on some corner of some North Jersey town, me wearing his leather jacket and me thinking I was reliving part of some Bruce Springstein song. And that weird friend of his that I only met once and who we ran into at some classic american diner. As soon as we entered the diner, the guy comes up to us and says to me “I never forget a pretty face”. Like whatever.

Drew was going to school in South Jersey, and I stayed at his house at spring break. We tripped on shrooms and drove into Atlantic City at midnight with some friends of his, and wondered around the casinos. We watched some mafia types, all in dark suits and looking pretty dangerous playing Baccarat. Then I freaked out about the crippled woman manically playing on some giant slot machine in the front of one of the casinos.

Then we went to get something to eat, and everyone got carded except for me and Drew. The doorman took one look at us and waved us through. Drew and his friends spent an hour speculating why we didn’t get carded when everyone else did. They came to the conclusion that there must be unspoken rule in Atlantic City than when a guy is out with a jailbait looking girl, no one asks any questions. Drew’s friends thought I looked like I was in junior high.

What a fun night. That was the first time I had french fries with melted cheese on top. Then we went walking along the jersey shore and on the boardwalk, and then to a donut shop to eat donuts because we were all still starving.