He looks around the room, flips open an empty pizza box, then squints at me. “No.”

“I’m a Financial Aid student man, I need some money,” I plead. “Just five bucks.”

He closes his eyes and laughs. “I’m good for it,” is all he says.

Resin wakes up and starts talking to the ashtray. Marc warns me that I’m f**king up his karma. I leave. Junkies are pathetic enough but rich junkies are even worse. Even worse than girls.

PAUL My damn radio went off accidentally at seven o’clock this morning and I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I stumbled out of bed, immediately lit a cigarette and closed the windows since it was freezing in the room. Even though I could barely open my eyes (if I did I was positive my skull would split open) I could see that I was still wearing my tie, my underwear, and my socks. I couldn’t figure out why I was only wearing these three articles of clothing so I stood for a long time staring into the mirror trying to remember last night, but couldn’t. I stumbled into the bathroom and took a shower, grateful that there was some warm water left. I dressed hurriedly and braced myself for breakfast.

Actually it was quite nice out. It was that time of October just when the trees were about to lose their fall foliage and the morning was cold and crisp and the air smelled clean and the sun, obscured by graying clouds, wasn’t too high yet. I was still feeling awful though, and the five Anacin I popped weren’t anywhere near doing their job. Bleary-eyed, I almost put a twenty in the change machine. I passed the post office but there was nothing in my box since it was too early for mail. I got cigarettes and went up to the dining hall.

There was no one in line. That cute blond-haired Freshman boy was behind the counter not saying a word, only wearing the biggest pair of black sunglasses I’ve ever seen, serving the wettest looking scrambled eggs and these little brown toothpicks which I suspected were sausages. The thought of eating nauseated me to no end and I looked at the boy who just stood there, holding a spatula. My initial horniness gave way to irritation and I muttered, “You’re so pretentious,” cigarette still in mouth, and got a cup of coffee.

The main dining room was the only one open so I went in and sat down with Raymond, Donald, and Harry, this little Freshman who Donald and Raymond befriended, a cute boy who was concerned with typical Freshman questions, like Is there life after Wham!? They had been up all night doing crystal meth, and they had invited me, but I had followed … Mitchell, who was sitting at another table across the dining hall, to that stupid party instead. I tried not to look over at him and that awful f**ked-out slut he was sitting with, but I couldn’t help it and I cursed myself for not jerking off when I woke up this morning. The three fags were huddled around a sheet of paper composing a student blacklist and even though their mouths were moving a mile a minute, they noticed me, nodded, and I sat down.

“Students who go to London and come back with accents,” Raymond said, writing furiously.

“Can I bum a cig?” Donald asked me absently.

“Can you?” I asked back. The coffee tasted atrocious. Mitchell, that bastard.

“Oh, do be real, Paul,” he muttered as I handed him one.

“Why don’t you just buy some?” I asked as politely as someone who’s hungover and at breakfast possibly could.

“Anybody who rides a motorcycle, and all Deadheads,” Harry said.

“And anyone who comes to breakfast who hasn’t stayed up all night,” Donald shot a glance over at me.

I made a face at him and crossed my legs.

“Those two dykes who live in McCullough,” Raymond said, writing.

“How about all of McCullough?” suggested Donald.

“Even better.” Raymond scribbled something down.

“What about that slut with Mitchell?” I offered.

“Now, now, Paul. Calm down,” Raymond said, sarcastically.

Donald laughed and wrote her name down anyway.

“What about that mean fat trendy girl?” Harry asked.

“She lives in McCullough. She’s taken care of.”

I couldn’t stand this twisted faggy banter so early in the morning and I was going to get up and get more coffee but I was too tired to even do that and I sat back and didn’t look at Mitchell and soon all the voices became indistinguishable from one another, including mine.

“Anyone with beards or facial hair of any kind.”

“Oh that’s good.”

“How about that boy from L.A.?”

“But not really.”

“You’re right, but put him down anyway.”