For much of the rest of that year, I drank.

On a bright weekday afternoon, Paul and I gathered together a few dollars and headed to the Santa Maria Market. We bought two shot glasses and a $6 bottle of Appleton's Rum. Over about an hour, we had six shots in my brother's dorm room before stowing the bottle under a desk, wandering to my dorm room, reading Calvin and Hobbes, laughing, and slowly repeating "Holy Shit" at the magnitude of what was happening to our bodies.

Or.

I spent the night at Paul's house to avoid the stringent curfew of the dorm.We drank vodka from black film canisters. I laid down in the remarkably cool bathtub and Paul sat on the toilet and we talked about fuck knows what.

Or.

I spent the night at Daniel's house and we headed out to the night club Arribar, where I did not dance or talk to anyone but just downed the dollar shots that came with cover and played pool on the warped table in the far back corner.

Or.

The whole of us would grabbed taxis down on a friday afternoon to the Arabian shisha restraunt where we had shawarmas and pipas and tried not to be spotted by Chaplain's assistants who were said to sometimes drive the area and report those students who were in violation of the school's contract.

I held onto the vestiges of my moral purity by claiming that the bible made no invocations against drink but merely against drunkness, which I defined as damn near alcohol poisoning.