Characters, some of the dialog and trekkie technology belong to Paramount and the Star Trek Dynasty.
Since joining a Greek house, I have begun to become alienated from the party crowd that gravitates toward the big events organized by other houses. Greg wanted to start sooner than I originally thought.
The pace of things was picking up, and I did not want to miss out. I threw on a jacket I had bought at the Salvation Army in West Lebanon, slid on a pair of beat up sneakers with soles still sticky from stepping in dried puddles of beer at basements the previous weekend and rushed outside.
We met up on the lawn in front of a house with a small crowd of people in eclectic attire waiting near the door.
Greg exchanged nods and friendly exclamations with many of the people in the foyer. Tails was still wrapping up, so we followed one of the house members upstairs.
A boy rushed out from a door to welcome Greg. Voices of the people chattering outside spilled into the room. The mixture of laughter, excited shouts and muffled conversation distracted me, so I almost bumped into a table topped with half-empty beer cans.
As I was picking up a can, I sensed familiar smells seeping through the corridor. But before I had the chance to take a sip, the fire alarm went off. The three of us gathered at a safe distance, as a Safety and Security officer made his way to the door.
With the alarm wailing in the background, the small crowd around us and fire department vehicles parked close made us feel like we were at a crime scene. I was pulled back into reality when Greg motioned for me to follow him.
He had checked with some people and figured out another party for us to attend. The living room of the next house had been emptied out.
We lifted a couch and pushed our jackets under it. The basement, filled with the familiar stink of stale beer, was dimly lit and of average size. A couple of people danced around the space in front of the bar. Most attendees, however, were crammed in a room to the side.
Two pong tables took up most of the space in the room. The crowd along the walls cheered for a pair of players. The sounds of intermittent conversations mingled with the clatter of cups and cans rolling around the floor.
Some seniors asked me to snap a quick picture of them. As I pointed my camera at them, I could not help but compare those pictures to the multiple shots they would take in a month, wearing their graduation gowns with radiant smiles and hopeful gazes.
The picture I took had them wearing dresses and heels, ripped jeans and t-shirts.
Their smiles reflected the promise of the night. In the embrace of the evening, those somethings, like most of the people surrounding them, felt free to take off the facade of being straight-laced Ivy League students and put on that of easygoing youth, dancing and drinking all worries away.
Greg frequently checked his phone for texts; the party at the house was fizzling out. To spend more time in the basement would be a waste. That same time could be enjoyed in the whirlwind of parties unfolding elsewhere around campus, and Greg was on the search again.
We pulled our jackets from below the sofa.
Fire department vehicles were still parked further down the street reminding us of the would-be party that launched our night.
The street was teeming with groups of students trying to get to their preferred house in time for pong tournaments and various dance parties. They shuffled along excitedly, and the loud voices and laughter of these travelers echoed down the road as we walked down it on the way to our next destination.
We were headed toward a house that was hosting a major concert that night. By the time we arrived, there were no signs of the large line that would trail toward the entrance later through the night. A couple of people were casually smoking cigarettes and sipping beers on the porch.
We made our way past them and the doorman to find ourselves in a broad entryway. Three guys guarded the staircase leading to the upper levels of the house.
Greg exchanged a couple of words with a small group of people gathered in the entryway. Then he smoothly talked both of us through the self-designated guards to the upper floors where the band was warming up. A couple of rooms on the second floor had their doors open and crowds of people had gathered in each, talking and drinking.
We hid our jackets between some boxes in one of the rooms.Chapter 2. He had made her write out a statement in her own handwriting and sign it in blood.
In her own goddamn blood! Made her cut the index finger of her left hand and drain blood into a little candy dish. The family took time to thank well wishers and share the name of their first child as they left Auckland City Hospital after the birth on Thursday at pm.
Jul 06, · “The smiles on their faces,” he adds, referring to the male and female models, “are happy instead of sexy.” Clarins Pure and Radiant Mask With Pink Clay, otherwise they would have. Dressed in their vibrant costumes with radiant smiles on their faces, the children express the joy and hope they have found in Christ through African song and dance.
The loved-up couple couldn't keep the smiles off their faces as they arrived at the Crazy Bear summer garden party in Oxfordshire yesterday afternoon (Sunday). looked radiant in a cornflower. Sometimes we see people with radiant faces because they have perhaps recovered from a serious illness, or they came into an inheritance, or bought a new car, or welcomed a first child into their home, or returned from active military duty.