Dear Beloved Keg of Evanston,
I can’t think of words to adequately explain our blurred memories together over the years. You’ve given me countless dance-floor make-outs, and introduced me to the Neil, the best drink I’ve ever tasted. We’ve some good times, and some horrible times, not to mention the altogether forgettable. But you always stood there on Grove to pick me up after long weeks of studying. You bring the best of Northwestern together—Greek life, athletes, Wildcats of all ages and vocations come to mingle as one. You make dirty things seem okay, if just for that night. Blue motherfuckers in hand, you gave me the courage to be the best version of myself and experiment with the strangest dance moves I could come up with.
I’m sorry for letting this happen to you. I’m sorry for the nights I left you for other men. I’m sorry we let those high schoolers get their hands on you. And I’m sorry we let Mayor Tisdahl murder you and taint your name.
I will feel lost and hopeless without you. My Mondays, Saturday and the occasional Kellogg Tuesday will never be the same.
There’s nothing left to do now, but get into an exclusive relationship with Mark. Mark II, that is.
RIP dear friend. You are gone, but never forgotten. Except for some of those nights that were definitely forgotten.
All my love,
Northwestern Students
This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Northwestern chapter and does not reflect the views of Her Campus.