There’s something about Copperdale. Maybe it’s the school bell echoing through autumn air. Maybe it’s the train tracks behind the houses, or the lake that holds a thousand teenage secrets. It feels familiar — but not in a bad way. Like a memory that aged well.
We haven’t made any K-303 changes here yet. Not because it doesn’t need them, but because we like the way it breathes. There’s potential in the rust, in the gym lights, in the old signage that no one bothered to repaint.
We’re taking our time. Copperdale doesn’t rush, and neither do we.