I wrote. I drank. I hung out with my 10-year-old self.
I was ten the first time I went to Ogunquit, Maine. I’ll never forget that five-hour bus ride from Montreal to the Atlantic Ocean. It was great. Hell, I was traveling with a pack of other Canadian beach lovers, along with my mom and dad. Yeah, I can see them now, sitting next to each other in the row in front of me. They stared straight ahead…