DEAR READER: CH-CH-CH-CH-CHANGES

Boston changes seasons the way Ernest Hemingway described going bankrupt—gradually, then all at once.

One day it’s all t-shirt midriff and long walks along the Esplanade, and then later that same day it’s layered sweaters and long lines at the liquor store. Yes, everybody in your group has to show ID, and no, the few without fakes cannot just go outside.

Fall’s here, the students are back, and rent’s due—the ironic leisure of Labor Day weekend has since segued into the charming sincerity of the Boston back to school grind. Year-rounders, we didn’t appreciate what we got till it was gone. Paradise has been paved, and they put up a parking lot.

But hey, where there’s parking lots, there’s food trucks—as nice as it’s been to not have to hear about the sex lives of Suffolk sophomores during my morning commute, the place has been feeling a tad lonely as of late. As fun as it is to wander around the deserted streets of Allston pretending that you’re scavenging a post-apocalyptic wasteland for supplies, it does get old after a while.

Harvard Ave. just isn’t the same without a Sociology Major sneering at you.

Summer was nice while it lasted, and a big part of that is the “while it lasted” part. Exposing skin to sunlight only elicits such a thrill because you’ve been covered in corduroy for the last nine months. Enjoying your favorite establishment all emptied out is only made possible with the business that gets it all packed and pretentious.

We got when the getting was good. Now, it’s time to share.

And who knows? Maybe that Wentworth frosh who couldn’t figure out how to work a goddamn Charlie Card will be sending out dagger eyes of his own in four years.

The circle of life continues.