I grew up not far from Oberlin College. In high school, my friends and I would drive the 20 minutes south on Rt. 58 and hang out at the campus coffee bars. I didn’t drink coffee at the time and wouldn’t for years, not in college or when I started working, though I embraced every other bad habit I associated with publishing and adulthood. Instead, I ordered steamed milk with a shot of Irish cream syrup, and sipped it while carefully slouched in a threadbare armchair. I wanted to come to Oberlin alone so I could more shamelessly play the part of an East Coast transplant, but I never worked up the courage.
All this to say: I want to read Townie.