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Top of World

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Top of World

Top of World. Bottoms up. It would burn on the way down. And the bottle, passing from hand-to-hand, would be ice cold. Our parents locked the liquor cabinet, so we grew up on freezer vodka. We made our claim to this spot, Top of World. Right next to one of those giant radio towers, the red blinking kind. Beyond the cemetery. Just past the small control building, the one covered in graffiti since we could remember. Defaced with those spray-can promises. Profound philosophical revelations littered with expletives and credited appropriately. Read More