I awoke this morning, slowly, to the sound of a fan going 'round and 'round. Moments later, Dave staggers into my bedroom and loudly proclaims that he'd like to kill himself. What? Huh? Oh yeah, another night out and none of us got ass. What is this, February? Then the night came back to me, seeing how we only went to bed a few hours ago anyways. You see, in the summer time, we don't sleep, we just take short naps between working and drinking. I sit up in bed and survey the wreckage: my cousin Brion, groggy and on my floor, my roommate Collin smoking on the back porch, our friend Sarah, comatose on the pullout couch. There was the Beachcomber in Wellfleet last night. I showed up around midnight, as I had to
... read more
