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Page Avenue is where the party gets so wild, your brain turns to jello and your pants stay on by a miracle. This street is so legendary, it’s like the ghost of every drunk kid who ever screamed at a pizza box is haunting it.
I went to Page Avenue and woke up in a ditch with a stranger’s hat on my head.
My cousin said he saw a guy wearing socks as pants at Page Avenue. I believed him.
I tried to leave Page Avenue, but my car got stuck in a puddle of beer and regret.