It's my favorite time of year. The weather is warm, the trees are in bloom, and all of the sorority girls have gone home for the summer to do whatever it is sorority girls do all summer leaving the city safe for grad students in undersized cars to drive their babies around willy nilly, free from fears of being killed upon impact by a ninety pound nineteen-year-old driving a five thousand pound car while applying mascara and talking on the phone.
In the coffee shop I can actually hear my iPod and it's once again safe to attempt to have dinner at Chili's on a Friday night. And for two and a half glorious months I won't have to see one more Nicole Richie wannabe wearing sweatpants and a tshirt (Kappa Pajama 2006!) carrying a $500 purse SLAM THE DOOR IN HER DAD'S FACE AT A RESTARAUNT (for instance).
They'll come back like they always do. And then it will be Welcome Week, and they will be at their most obnoxious and shrill and they will travel around in packs on chartered buses and, in the case of the boys, in the backs of pickup trucks. But right now, it is quiet.