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<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<link href='http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Dancing+Script' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'>
<script type="text/javascript" src="//use.typekit.net/adk4phw.js"></script>
<script type="text/javascript">try{Typekit.load();}catch(e){}</script>
<link rel="stylesheet" href="styles.css">
</head>
<body>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="back"><p><span>Previous</span></p></div>
<div class="letter-wrapper">
<div class="letter">
<p class="cursive address">Dear Willard Second Floor Ladies’ Room,</p>
<p class="body">I was recently asked what love means to me. One of the first words that came to mind was sacrifice, and truth be told, I have sacrificed a lot for you: wearing shoes at all times in case there is a giant puddle on your floor, keeping said shoes on in the shower and breathing through my mouth as soon as I open your door because you smell like feces covered in wing sauce.</p>
<p class="body">Regardless, I have learned that there is no better place to learn about the really weird habits of humankind than within your walls. This includes myself – apparently I’m the only one that does ballet barre workouts while brushing my teeth. Thanks for never judging me. Our relationship, unfortunately, was ill-fated from the start, and I will be leaving you soon. Please say you’ll never forget me, as I know I’ll never forget you – my first college bathroom.</p>
<p class="writer cursive">Abbey Kutlas</p>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<p class="cursive address">Dear Fisk basement classrooms,</p>
<p class="body">To give you a chocolate for Valentine’s Day would be fruitless, for it would melt as soon as I’d bring it into your fiery inferno. To give you a romantic mixtape would be needless, for it would be impossible for you to hear my affections above the din of clanging pipes above your ceiling. To give you my copy of <em>Nights in Rodanthe</em> would be futile, for your flickering lights would prevent you from seeing anything on paper, not even your own teardrops. And to give you flowers would be to no avail, for you would be unable to smell them over the musty, palpable odor from decades of neglect. Alas, it appears the only way to truly express my love is to give you this note:</p>
<p class="body"><em>Dear Satan,</em></p>
<p class="body"><em>If you want us to stay out of your Portal to Hell, just ask nicely.</em></p>
<p class="writer cursive">Andrew Brown</p>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<p class="cursive address">Dear Uber,</p>
<p class="body">Happy Valentines Day and a thousand 5-star ratings for you, noble steed. You are the Fifty to my Ana, the Salt to my Pepa and the Drake to my Amanda Bynes. You are the real ride-or-die for getting me out of my dorm where I’d otherwise rot until Dillo.</p>
<p class="body">I love that you get my authentic self is not made for the outside world, and your toasty interior warms me like no human bodies ever could. I knew we had something beautiful when you whisked me away 50 feet across South Campus without throwing shade like a lesser lover would. They can fill Main to the roof with promo cards but I’ll never accept a Lyft from another. Let’s be exclusive.</p>
<p class="writer cursive">Isabel Schwartz</p>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<p class="cursive address">Dear Deuce Pizza,</p>
<p class="body">I know that you’re not actually called Deuce Pizza, because you’re not actually made at the Deuce. You’re really made at Candlelite Chicago, the sports bar with the big neon sign two doors down (right on the other side of Basil’s, which happens to be the No. 1 hotspot for North Shore kids to purchase alcohol as minors). And while I am a townie, and I’ve been going to Candelite since they sponsored my baseball team in the second grade, I never appreciate you more than when I’m stumbling through hordes of drunk freshmen at the worst bar in Chicago.</p>
<p class="body">Nothing else can satiate my uncontrollable drunchies or get the fowl taste of tequila out of my mouth like you can. Every Thursday, Northwestern students journey to the Mark II Lounge, looking for love. But love can’t be found in the sweaty back room – only in the stacks of pizza boxes by the pool table.</p>
<p class="writer cursive">Jeremy Layton</p>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<p class="cursive address">Dear Frostbite Shuttle,</p>
<p class="body">Where have you been? I stood on Sheridan Road for seven minutes waiting for you in the lonely, bitter cold. Or maybe I’m just lonely and bitter because you keep showing up late. Seven minutes, seriously? We agreed that we would meet here at 9:21 so that we could hang out before class. How can you expect me to trust you when you stand me up every time? It’s humiliating.</p>
<p class="body">All my friends tell me you’re not worth it, that you’re never going to change. They say I should have left you by now, but somehow I can’t stop myself from coming back. Maybe it’s your warmth, your endless charm, the way you take me somewhere incredible. Or just to North campus. Happy Valentines Day, Frostbite Shuttle.</p>
<p class="writer cursive">Quinn Schoen</p>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<p class="cursive address">Dear Sheridan Road,</p>
<p class="body">I never imagined things would escalate quite like this. You’ve shown me a side of myself I didn’t know existed. I never thought of myself as the spontaneous type, but darting across a main road without a crosswalk multiple times per day has proven otherwise.</p>
<p class="body">And when I do, on rare occasion, opt for a main intersection, nothing brightens my day like making it just in time to hear your sweet voice announce that the “walk sign is on across Sheridan Road” and then count down steadily from 20, so that everyone knows just when to start speed walking. I love when you tease me, like when the stop sign starts flashing and there’s definitely more than enough time for me to cross. It’s adorable. Sheridan, with you, every day is an adventure.</p>
<p class="writer cursive">Ricki Harris</p>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<p class="cursive address">Dear Hinman,</p>
<p class="body">I’ll be coming back to you, no matter what you do. You know I will. You’ve let me down time and time again, but I can’t leave you. Despite your questionable-looking stir fry and your mealy apples, I’ll come back. There’s just something about you that I can’t avoid. As terrible as you can be to me, with no weekend hours and short time windows for dinner, I’ll come back. Although your soft-serve ice cream matches the consistency of milk, I’ll come back.</p>
<p class="body">I will still risk my life crossing Sheridan to swipe as many times as possible. Just tell me you’ll never get rid of hot cookie bar, and you’ll keep plenty of peanut butter on hand for the countless times I’ll be making sandwiches in the future. It won’t be easy, but maybe we can make this work, Hinman.</p>
<p class="writer cursive">Virginia Nowakowski</p>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<p class="cursive address">Dear Rock,</p>
<p class="body">Your bodacious form, splashed with layers upon layers of colorful paint and campus advertisements, teaches me the meaning of beauty and a multitude of life lessons.</p>
<p class="body">When I gaze upon your many-layered curves, I am humbly reminded that people are composed of so many layers. And when I think about the little rock underneath your many layers, I realize that I can aspire to anything. Just look at how far you’ve come! You, who used to be part of some graduation gift, have transcended your previous purpose and now inspire thousands of “Why Northwestern” college applications a year!</p>
<p class="body">I could write essay upon essay, sonnet upon sonnet, novel upon novel, praising the organic undulations of your smooth painted surface, your many-layered complexity, your breathtaking and inspiring character.</p>
<p class="body">But I will sum it up like so: I am warm for your form.</p>
<p class="writer cursive">Mira Wang</p>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<p class="cursive address">Dear Fran’s,</p>
<p class="body">Wednesday, 10 p.m., black ice greasing the pavement beneath my feet as I trudge back from journalism lab. Sleet stings my face as I trek through the sorority quads, a wayward sailor on a mission home. Hark! Through the southernmost arch you are my light at the end of the tunnel. “Land, ho!” I wail, collapsing to the ground in my kingdom of cheese and faux fireplaces.</p>
<p class="body">Oh, my sweet Fran’s, ne’er deprive me of the sustenance of your chicken caesar salad, nor the comfort of your milkshakes. In exchange, I vow to return every night and pretend to do my homework. I dread the day when I no longer open your doors to find all my friends and an endless bounty of tater tots. After all, in the words of <em>Cheers</em>, “sometimes you want to go / where everybody knows your name.”</p>
<p class="writer cursive">Malloy Moseley</p>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<p class="cursive address">Dear Hot Cookie Bar,</p>
<p class="body">As the countdown begins, a line of your lovers rapidly forms. You may be a bad boy, but no one can resist your temptation. As your sweet aroma wafts through the air, our desire becomes insatiable. We crave you. We want you. We need you. We have been waiting an excruciating seven days for you.</p>
<p class="body">As you come into view, we get giddy with excitement. The world around us comes to an abrupt halt as we see you come through the hall and place yourself in front of us. The little piece of yourself that you give to each of us feels like heaven, and all we want is more. Yet, it quickly comes to an end, and another week must pass before we can meet again. Hot cookie bar, you will be forever mine.</p>
<p class="writer cursive">Kamya Bijawat</p>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<p class="cursive address">Dear Domino's,</p>
<p class="body">In your short time at Northwestern you have become my go-to restaurant. You're more reliable than most of my friends. When I dial your number, I know there will be a medium pepperoni thin crust pizza at my door in 18 minutes or less.</p>
<p class="body">It doesn't matter if I sleep through my morning class or fail my exam, if I'm munching some 'No's it's a good day. Your app is on my home screen and I always know delicious pizza is only a click away. And there is no better feeling knowing that your pizza is being delivered in the Bat Mobile of delivery cars. Thanks for being my pizza heroes. </p>
<p class="writer cursive">Will Noglows</p>
</div>
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