As a counselor, you've got an early night out, or access to a stash (the bottom of your suitcase, under the sweatshirts you don't wear). You're so tired. Maccabiah ended, and your team lost. It's way late, and you're wandering through the woods, alone. You tell yourself that it's unwise, stupid, and irresponsible, but fuck it. This is your first drink in weeks, and you're not even legal to drink. Your can of Budweiser hisses, hisses like the bugs around you. You lean against a tree, and start to hum solemn show tunes. You finish, and decide you ought to head back. It's half past two am. You actually hate litter, but you're pissed, so screw it. You toss it behind you, heading back to the village.
