Truckee Meadows Community College
It was Dishwater Martin and I hiding in the bushes outside of my old college roommate’s window. We’d both hit the bottle early that morning so we were really buzzing. Our plan was to slip in undetected, pound Frank McKee into mincemeat, and snag his dog. Pinto was a good dog. He deserved better. Martin and I both agreed. Fraternity was spreading across our nation like a plague and Frank McKee was the leading example. Back slapping and beer guzzling, shirts tucked and collared, unnaturally induced bulk; we wanted none of it. So that’s why we were crouched there, content for the moment to just watch a frat-boy in its natural element.
