I have many memories of Backstreets. I often reminisce fondly of dancing on the tables and taking jello shot after jello shot after jello shot…. It’s where I felt at home. It’s where I met the love of my life. I loved Backstreets. I loved the atmosphere. I loved the people. I named my first child Back and my second Streets. I named the third Jello Shot.
But, they get bullied at school. The kids make fun of their names, and I feel sad about it. They don’t understand. They weren’t there to feel the music pumping through their veins and the alcohol spilling into their teeth.
I wish I could go back in time and twerk at Backstreets. I just wish there was a way…
I traveled back to Potsdam. I bought a one-way ticket. I stayed in my old fraternity. They asked me who I was. I couldn’t respond.
I was just so happy to be near it, to breathe the same air once again.
I walked by the old building the next day. But, it just wasn’t the same. It was horrific. I cried. I had an asthma attack. I popped multiple xanies. I fell to the floor and asked my God why???
I then went to Stewart’s and bought lighter fluid and a lighter.
I did the deed. I burnt down Backstreets. I couldn’t live with myself if it wasn’t thriving. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t call myself a religious man.
I burned down Streets. I shuddered as the ashes fell around me. I did this because deep down, Deep in my heart, I knew that it looked better this way. There was now a giant black hole on Market St. and it looked better than it did before.
I now have my testimony and I’m traveling across the nation and speaking to college youth. I’m telling my story. I’m helping people. In a world with no Streets, I must find my root of happiness again.
Signed, Jesus Christ