Twisted
“But that’s the kind of thing you have to build up to in a conversation, and there wasn’t time for that, not with Stacey blowing the horn and cars squealing out of the parking lot.I figured it would take me a half hour to get to the party on foot.Idiot. Moron. Cretin. Fool.Two hours and a couple of blisters later, I finally made it. I’d heard of Josh Rawson (who hadn’t?) but never had classes with him so I wasn’t sure what to expect. Standing on his front porch, it was obvious the place was crow...ded and noisy, but I didn’t know the guy and wasn’t exactly invited, not by him, so was I supposed to ring the doorbell, or knock, or sneak in the back?I rang the doorbell.Nobody answered.I reached out to press the button again. The door flew open and I jumped back. Two guys hustled a third guy down the steps as fast as they could. They made it to the driveway before he started ralphing. They yelled at him for splattering their shoes.I walked in.“Bacchanalia” summed it up nicely: a party that smelled in equal parts of cologne, beerpuke, peppermints, and weed.MoreLess
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