what's there to do?

dan rowan moved from sacramento to l.a. for school. when he came back to sacramento for winter break, he would refuse to leave the house. someone asked him why, to which he only responded, "what's there to doooo?" dan had a lisp, and he was the rich bitch's roommate for a little while. he played drums in our horrible wannabe punk band, the crew. i heard that on another occasion, when he had to come back to town for the birth of his baby brother, he drove up in his station wagon while drinking a 40. i believed this really happened.

another time, i met this santa cruz guy, derek. he was tall and looked like he was stoned all the time, which he probably was. he worked at the tasting room with meagan. once, when people were talking about pins and bank accounts, he said, "my pin is completely random. it's so random it doesn't even make sense to me. if someone cracks my code, he deserves my money." later that same evening, derek asked me where i was from. "sacramento," i said. he nodded, and then he said, "sac town." i waited for his punchline, since he seemed the type of guy to have a penchant for them. he delivered: "and that's about all there is to that place."

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