The touch of cold linoleum against the bare skin of my chest awoke me from my deep sleep. I tried to open my eyes but the shine of bright lights off of the newly polished white porcelain halted my attempts. Where was I? How did I get here? Confused at my situation, I tried once more to open my eyes, this time succeeding. My body ached like I had just ran a two kilometer marathon with thirty pound weights strapped to my shoulders. I couldn't move. My arms, legs, fingers, and toes were still in the deep sleep I was so rudely awakened from. My eyes drifted downward to fall upon what had become my best friend that night. The smell of fresh Soft Scrub invaded my nostrils to a point that made it almost comforting. The bowl was tainted by the contents of my still queasy stomach, although it did not appear like lasagna, and smelled like a combination of burning tires, old people, and some sort of fruit. Outside, I could hear the sounds of those smart enough to survive the n!
             ight. What time was it anyways? Was it 2001 yet? These questions flashed through my mind with a deep regret as I realized that I was the first one down. I could not let the others find me here. I could not let them see what kind of man I was; one who could not hold down three beers and passes out on toilet seats. Revival became my main task at this point. I tried to stand up, but my body wasn't awake as I was. Footsteps outside the door echoed in my mind like the reverb of a bullet. They grew closer and closer, only to halt a few meters before the door.
             "Hey Michelle, what's up?" Someone said.
             Michelle McDougal, the girl of my dreams, the reason I came here tonight. She was the type of girl whom most men lust after, only to find that her personality and attitude was as cold as the linoleum floor I laid upon. Brian O'Donnell had told me that Michelle said I was "the hottest thing to
             ...