Froshies are trodding on my territory.
Scads of Abercrombie-clad clones are trampling all over my home stomping ground..
My backyard is backed-up with over-eager freshmen and all of the o-week, type-a's, busy pumping up newbie spirits and putting a damper on mine.
When I walk, I want to walk fast, mission-walk, through clear streets. I've got a lot of limb from the waist down and don't want to put it to waste. Call me a claustrophobe, or a country folk, but I just need some room to stretch out on my home street.