bummer
The Hot Truck set up shop every night about 100 yards behind my freshman-year dorm. Tens of drunk-ass college kids descending on a single vehicle in the midst of the Ithaca winter at 2 a.m.? Nah, nothing bad could come of that. Bob’s civility and patience made it work, though. Never in the “few” times that I frequented the Hot Truck did I witness the presence of law-enforcement personnel.
Rest well, Bob. The PMP Pep will forever remain the world’s tastiest, most absorbent sponge for Genny from a stale keg.
