Last Saturday, “State Patty’s Day,” at about 2 p.m., we looked out and saw a police vehicle parked in front of our house. When we opened the door, we almost tripped on an unconscious, green-T-shirt-clad youth sprawled across our stoop.
As he was pretty much unresponsive, an ambulance was called, and eventually they got the young man onto the gurney. We were told that his blood-alcohol content was 0.36, which is just about toxic.
I don’t think we’ve ever seen a more miserable human being — sick, ashen, confused, scared.
Is this supposed to be fun?
Peggy and Bill Hartman, State College