One night, a couple friends and I had just finished a creative writing workshop. We went and got some Jack Daniels and a bunch of Yeunglings and walked all the way up to an old abandoned watertower, drinking all the way. Once there, we got smashing drunk while discussing literature, Will Smith's rap ability, and whether or not anal sex with women was a good idea.
Then we came down and went a friends house in search for some weed. We arrive, walk up the stairs on the side of house and through a beautiful set of french doors, on the other side of which is a mess of couches and trash. Finally, other people come to rescue, and we find our weed, in a trashy room that contains a self-built hard-drive, a girl with diamond studs in her chest, and a bed swept with brief swirls of coke. Downstairs, a lesbians-only party was in full swing.
I walked home that night alone, but feeling warm, in the arms of my friends Drunken and Blazed. By the time I arrived, Twisted met me at the door.
Cont. question.