While most my age sipped cervezas in the sand, I was enviously slogging my way north on Interstate 81.
Thanks to a family wedding, my final college Spring Break was spent not on the Gulf Coast, but rather in less-than-tropical Vermont. Thanks to a blown head gasket, the journey was made not in the relative luxury of my Chevy Blazer, but rather as a passenger on Greyhound Bus #4444.
"Well, at least you have your own seat," a Florida-bound Spring Breaker reminded me over my cell phone. But this too was about to change.
My new neighbor slumbered noisily and reeked of cigarettes, catnip and body odor. I named him Oscar because he must have emerged from a trash can.
Sadly, he was my closest friend for the duration of the ride.
Legend has it that Jesse James once shot a man for snoring. After 12 hours next to Oscar, I can relate.

Patrick Corcoran
Senior in history