12:15 a.m.: Stopped by a '90s party on Sansom and didn't know a soul. The hottest girl in the room held hands the entire night with some douchebag wearing a long face and a blazer. The other hottest girl in the room wore a Britney Spears schoolgirl get-up and danced all night on the sofa. The only black guy in the room sat on the couch by the window, wearing stunna shades, talking to the only other black guy in the room. Outside, the tap on the keg was broken. It sat on the patio and wouldn't stop running.
12:45 a.m.: Went upstairs to smoke a joint with two sorority sisters. Halfway through the conversation, forgot which house they were in, and asked how they liked Alpha Phi. They made a face. Came downstairs, and my friends had left. On the dance floor people slow-grinded and drank, singing along with their formative years: "She's so lucky, she's a star, but she cries, cries, cries in her lonely heart."
1:50 a.m.: Finally left, but not before slow dancing to "My Heart Will Go On." At the door, the black guys were leaving, too. One turned to the other. "Man," he said, pulling on his coat, "we need to stop going to these fucking parties"
