This is my last editor’s letter. Ever. Even though Street is printing next week, by then the new board will have taken over and I will be completely washed up. I have been involved with Street since the first week of my freshman year, and now I will be unceremoniously cut loose. And I am freaking out about it.

Sure, I’ve been involved with other things during my Street tenure, but nothing has been as fun/meant as much/seemed as important. I didn’t realize until pretty late in the game that people actually read this little magazine of ours. My wake-up call? The angry voicemails I received after my first issue as Editor-in-Chief — the joke issue in which we published cartoon feces, among other things. Some people just don’t think poop is funny, I guess.

Well readers, we’ve gotten to know a lot about each other this past year. You now know that Seth Cohen is my fictional soulmate, I suffer from excessive FOMO and word games are my (nerdy) jam. And what has Street taught me about you? That Transit (R.I.P.) holds a special place in your heart, you’re passionate about your fro-yo, and you capital-L Love Shoutouts.

But now it’s time for someone else to take over this post. There will undoubtedly be a Street-shaped hole in my heart (and schedule) from here on out. How will I begin to fill the void? Maybe I’ll reintegrate Copa Wednesdays into my rotation, or maybe I’ll take up a new hobby (I still refuse to enter Pottruck, however). Either way, it’s been a good run. And I owe it all to Ed’s pizza, regular (not Diet!) Coke, insomnia, Little Jack Bauer, Precise V5s, the Street chant, a stable of amazing editors and you, of course.

On that note, I will end with a haiku, just for you:

Street does not matter Without people that read it. That is to say: thanks.

Julia


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