Hey Wait Just One Second: Desire paths
By Max Turnacioglu | October 1“Step outside but not to brawl,” Anthony Kiedis croons in my ear, and I oblige. The midnight wind is cold, not chilling, drifting across the Wren bridge. Light orange, brown leaves pepper the sidewalk, still soft underfoot — “Autumn’s sweet, we call it fall.” I wander in the general direction of Haskell Hall, dodging construction zones — “I’ll make it to the moon if I have to crawl” — with only a gentle glow to guide me. Past Fletcher, I round an arcing stretch of well-trodden grass, fading yellows drowned out by freshly exposed dirt, down the hill towards the Courts. I diverge from the pavement, freeing myself from its rigid hold as I follow in the footsteps of my peers. My path, imprinted in gentle footfalls, overlays hundreds and thousands of others before it, constructing a collective path of passion — otherwise known as a desire path.
