“HOW THE HELL DID YOU get involved with that prick?” asked Harry.
“Funny. He asked the same thing about you the other day.” We were sitting in the Bozzoli sports pavilion bar, a short walk from Men’s Res. Their impressively sized Fosters cans were working hard to flush the foreign caffeine from my system.
“He’s a prick.”
“Alright, agreed. But he has some redeeming qualities.”
“Like what?”
“Like he’s paying me to chase after women. I’ve finally found a job I don’t hate.”
Harry raised his drink to that. “I’m constantly surprised that you’ve lived long enough to do anything.”
I laughed. “Hey, I’ve still got a few good years left before I hit the dreaded 25. Lots still to do.”
We watched the students stroll past, some of them on their way to a sporting event, others just making their w
