After homemade steak burritos, the Matrix, and a few hours of philosophizing with DJ and Teymour, I received a phone call from another Josh. Dear Vivek was sick and needed medical advise. His symptoms included congestion, a dry throat, and his girlfriend. These, and probably less, impeded his ability to drink. Worried, Josh called to see what he should do. I told Vivek to have something to hold him over, not to go anywhere until my arrival. After some sharp persuation, DJ and I convinced Teymour to join us. Vivek was worse off than we suspected, for he was already asleep by the time we entered the door.

Liz, Josh, Galen, Amit, and others, however, were quite well and focused more or less on Mario64. I introduced DJ and Teymour as Walter Cronkite, my friend from high school with an unfortunate name but who prefers to go by Walt, and Jean-Claude, my Parisian friend from Leverett. Eventually, they saw through our little ploy. In the meantime, we oohed and ahhed and jumped at the more intense plays on the Nintendo. Something like sixteen stars later, everyone who was going to had gone to bed. Amit, the sober saint that he is, drove us to the South Street Diner. There, Josh got shot down by the waitress, whose single status was unclear, but certainly “complicated.” We headed home. DJ and I watched the Tom Cruise interview and woke up 11 hours later, missing our ride to Connecticut. Being lazy and uncreative, we’re bored. And that’s no good, as Walker, Texas Ranger.