I was surprised to read about some kids that died in the caves in St. Paul today. I used to crawl around in there when I was a kid and really enjoyed exploring. Once we got kind of tired and I tried to convince the crew that we all just needed to take a break and catch our breath. I told them we were probably just pushing ourselved too hard in a place where there’s not much oxygen. They outvoted me and we headed out. By the time we made it to the grass outside, we could barely move. We laid on the grass and looked up at the sky and just collectively groaned for about 1/2 an hour. Then, when we could finally move again, we decided to head to church and play some basketball. When we got there, though, all we could do was lay on the floor and talk. It was only a few months later that I heard about the kids mentioned in the article that died in 1992. It was cool to explore and see everything from railcarts for mushrooms to little rooms where Satanic scribblings were etched in the wall. We also saw the area that was once a dance club but it wasn’t much — just a much larger area with some mirrors and some barrels.