6:34 pm
I adjust the collar around my neck as I gently ruffle out the dress shirt I've selected for tonight's outing. I gaze back at my figure in the mirror, pushing over the few strands of hair that overlap down onto the left side of my forehead. Attempting to look my best, knowing that I'll be damn well shitfaced by the end of the night, I grab my jacket and leave the dorm room.
On the way out, I check to see if my lighter has any fluid left in it, which it does not. I'll need to make getting a new one a priority tonight, as I throw the old one out. I'm pretty much the heaviest partier on campus, and have a horrible reputation with the staff and teachers of the school. Let's just say I didn't come to university to get a degree.
Cutting through the park, giddy with the idea of all the recreational substances that I'll be ingesting into my system tonight, I wouldn't mind a quick cigarette to loosen me up (since I never buy a full pack and just bum them off people). Not trying to sound cocky, but I'm a slick talker with the ladies after I've got my drink on and caught a nice buzz. Everything's better with a little alcohol in my belly and nicotine in my veins.
. . . . .
7:01 pm
By the time I get to my first party stop of the night—a frat held by a group of jocks on the school football team—I can already tell this will be my kind of place. Upon entering, I'm greeted by others, as I'm always a familiar face in these environments. Right away, I accept a drink from two guys handing me a red cup and some cider. I don't even have to ask what's in it, as long as there's alcohol involved.
I take a few swigs, bobbing my head to the rhythm of the music playing over the portable speaker. As I said, I'm already eyeing up a few of the females, noticing two girls in the kitchen already getting freaky with one another.
I sip my drink as I slowly make my way out onto the porch. There, I see a presumed student around my age puffing on a cigarette, him too sipping a drink. That reminds me that I'm still craving some tobacco.
So, being the junkie I am, already grabbing a second alcoholic beverage, I approach and ask if he can bum me a smoke. He shakes his head apologetically, giving me the cliche line that he only has one left. As a smoker, this is hardly ever true, but there's not much you can do once they make their decision. Accepting his decline, I make my way back into the party, continuing to ingest more alcohol in my system.
Darn, I think to myself.
. . . . .
8:13 pm
After spending a good hour at the first frat, now feeling nice and buzzed and ready to move on with my night, I tell my homies that I'm about to bounce. They dab me up and say goodbye, before I'm about to quickly chill with some of my closest friends and drop a tab of acid or two. My buddy is a heavy psych guy, and loves to experiment with mind-altering substances.
On the walk there, considering I'm already feeling somewhat tipsy, I notice an elderly woman smoking a cigarette at the bus stop. This is when I really love a dart—after I've got a nice alcohol buzz going. Cutting across the street quickly, I ask if she can bum me one. Looking promising, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a pack of Belmonts with a rather sincere look.
But just as I'm about to grab one from her, she proceeds to tell me that she needs an extra dollar for the bus. Feeling deflated, I realize quickly that I don't have any money on me—and that with my partying reputation across the campus, I've for the most part just always had people give me alcohol and drugs for free. But she makes it clear that she wants a dollar in return for the bus.
