That Sunday night, no closer to getting a new place, I’d shoved all my belongings into two duffel bags and three black garbage bags. Together with Scott and Jeremy, we dragged my worldly goods up one floor to Scott’s dorm room. After shoving them into one corner, we sat around drinking. I was on the bed with Scott, each of us drinking a vodka cooler. Jeremy was spread out on the floor, drinking some vile piss he called Welsh Black Stout that he imported from the UK on a monthly basis.
“Jer, I think this is the first time just the three of us have hung out,” Scott remarked, legs crisscrossed, his back against the wall. Our taciturn Welsh friend grunted, taking a long pull of his soupy swill. Directing his attention to me, Scott added, “We should move stuff more often—it’s sorta nice, just
