10-15-2011, 08:08 PM
Twilight was creeping over the horizon, but a small side street just off the UNLV campus was alive with the sound of thumping hip-hop music and shrieking, cheering revellers. It was the annual beginning-of-term street-party mixer, the first social event held on the first weekend of the new semester. For new students, it was their official introduction to college life with all the freedom that came with it, a celebration of their newfound independence, while for upper classmen, it was the time to get reaquainted with old friends. It was also the time when fraternities and sororities covertly sized up the new crop of freshies for potential pledging before Rush Week. In any case, it was the place to be that Saturday night.
One new student walked tentatively, nervously, among the partygoers, feeling like a sheep among wolves. Dimi had come along with Maddie and a few friends who had emphatically insisted she attend this bash. "It's tradition," they had told her, "and it's a great way to meet guys. Come on, it'll be fun! You don't want to wimp out on us, do you?"
Dimi had certainly not wanted to wimp out, so she gamely went along, half-heartedly reassuring herself that there was no harm in attending this event. Five minutes after arriving, however, she began to feel some misgivings about it. Even by Sin City standards, it was louder, more raucous, and more drunken than any club she had been in, with or without her Uncle Criss. A deejay booth, flanked by a wall of giant Jackhammer speakers on either side, thundered out the latest hip-hop and rap tunes, the vibrations from which registered eight on the Richter scale. Beer flowed like water at the Bellagio fountains, consumed with gusto by the partiers via anything that could hold liquid: bottles, cans, plastic cups, pitchers, beer steins, boots, even through funnels hooked up to hoses poured straight into people's mouths! The very air reeked of cheap beer and urine from those who relieved themselves behind the trees and in the bushes when they couldn't wait in line long enough to use the portapotties.
When they weren't drinking themselves into a stupor, the revellers were dancing wildly in the street. Some had stripped themselves to the waist--even the women!--as they gyrated to the beat of the nonstop music. A few couples slipped away from the party and ducked into whatever shelter offered privacy, only to return a long while later, hand in hand and smiling, for a few more beers and some more socializing.
Dimi felt overwhelmed by this youthful bacchanal. All the dire warnings her parents had given her about college, augmented by her strict Greek Orthodox upbringing, echoed in the back of her mind. Her first instinct was to run away, go back to the safety of her dorm room before the police showed up and arrested everybody, but Maddie and company kept urging her on, telling her not to be such a wallflower, to go and have fun. It was college, for God's sake, not a kiddie party! You're free! You're an adult! You can do anything you want! Enjoy yourself! Spurred on by peer pressure, Dimi drew a deep breath and plunged into the drunken melee.
Anyone want to take it from here?