Everybody out here is aggressively stoked. Gains at 5am, 14er by 9, kombucha on tap, "have you tried this new adaptogenic mushroom powder?" Meanwhile you're at 5,280 feet with a headache, chapped lips, and a nosebleed you can't explain, wondering why 300 days of sunshine hasn't fixed a single thing inside you. That's the vibe here. I 😔 Colorado. Sad in paradise.
Because let's be honest: the Broncos have been a slow-motion tragedy for a decade, the Rockies are a science experiment about what happens when baseballs stop obeying physics, it snows in May and hits 80 the next day, and green chile is genuinely the only reliable source of joy in the entire state. You can be depressed with a mountain view. Nobody warns you about that part.
Cut for real humans, soft enough to live in, and built to survive a laundry cycle without turning into a crop top. Wear it to the trailhead, the brewery, or your couch during another fourth quarter collapse.
