So, Congressman Frank Underwood is standing in front of the library that will shortly be named for him on the Sentinel campus. He is obviously emotional, remembering his time at the school and the bourbon soaked celebration of the night before with three of his closest friends. He is struggling to come up with the word or words that will adequately convey what he is feeling about that time and that place, that will come close to describing what he had there, felt there, did there, and learned there. Finally, as he glances towards his old singing (and drinking) buddies, it comes to him.
We sometimes get very nostalgic about the past and how good it was. How enticing the smells of turkey and dressing, winter greenery, and peppermint sticks were. How warm the fire felt, how soft the lights were. How sweet that first real kiss was. How…
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