It was the weekend before classes began. Loaded-down cars, vans and trucks wove through the Flint Hills like an army of ants carrying their bounty. Young men and women leaving home to hopefully grow academically (their parent's wish) and socially (their own wish). Their minds filled with anticipation for a great year. Only one night before it's time to settle into a routine. Only one night to paint the town purple before classes begin. Only one night to hit Aggieville.
It's a strange ritual...guys roam the long street, weaving in and out of bars, looking for, well, (fill in the blank). It was at one lively tavern that a group of hormone-driven males were on the look-out. Eyes darting in all directions checking out every shapely figure in view. Then, they suddenly stopped en masse, as if controlled by another force (and maybe they were). Sitting at a prominent table was the sought after prize: six cookie-cutter co-eds relishing in the attention from the room. The men were drawn in, it held them captive, they had no control.
But, it wasn't to be. Life doesn't guarantee happy endings and neither does one night in Aggieville.
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4 comments:
This is great!
I have to tell you. You are the last person in class I'd expect to write about drinking and trying to pick up girls. Surprise!
Lol. Funny, a far to familiar scene as I live in Manhattan. Very true!
Ah yes, Shalyn, but remember this is a slice of life--and the slices I observe sometimes come from my own family--oh to be a parent of a 21-year-old male...grrrrr!
I know, that much is clear.
Good job on showing their perspective!
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