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We were all very physically close the entire time. The youngest brunette was especially physical. She demanded I take a tequila shot once we got to the room. I already had way too much to drink and I knew it. Everything was already starting to get a little fuzzy. But I remember having this weird feeling about it like they were going to poison me. So, I made her take a shot first. It's pretty funny now that I look back at it. I may not remember their names or even every detail of what they looked like, but I remember her response when I told her she'd have to take a shot if she wanted me to take one. She said, "Don't worry. You don't have to get me any drunker to fuck me tonight." If I didn't have one already, my hard on was instantaneous. I also remember looking around at the room at that point and noticing it was a double with two queen beds. I think the blond was still on my other arm and the other brunette was dancing drunkenly with the old man. We were all pretty smashed. As. Just catching up on an English assignment."He looked over her shoulder."Emmmm, Heller's "Catch 22"." Yes, we have to do a paper on a work characteristic of dark, satiric humor." Well, that one surely fits the bill. It has you laughing out loud one moment and crying in despair the next." Isn't that the way life is?" she asked. "Isn't life itself filled with both joy and sadness and do we sometimes not even have time to savor the joy before the sorrow closes in on us?" Well put. Perhaps the existentialists have something there after all," he smiled."Would... you care to sit down?" asked Rhonda, determined not to act like a flustered school girl as she had done that day after class."I would love to, but unfortunately I have a class coming up shortly. Perhaps we can discuss the existential movement another time, say over dinner." I... I'd love to, but do you think..." It appropriate for a professor to take a student to dinner? Only if she wants to."He smiled again and her heart.
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He had turned off the light on the table and was enjoying the restful sight of the greenery, that contrasted so much with the noisy traffic on the street side of the flat. After a while he heard some muffled laughter coming from somewhere below, and then he saw a couple of young men, boys really. They must have been nineteen years old. They were wearing jeans and dark t-shirts and each held a bottle of beer. They were joking and laughing and then one took off his shirt, followed almost immediately by the other. They sipped their beer and talked. George could not hear what they said. What do boys talk about at that age? Girls, cars, motorcycles...? At thirty-two he felt much older, a different generation. It would never have occurred to him, when he was their age, to get a tattoo, especially not such extensive tattoos. One of them, the blond, had an abstract pattern in dark blue or black ink all the way from his neck, over his shoulder and down his right arm to the elbow. The other.

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