Party people,

I am sitting at Sweet E's with my dear friend, Kate. She's diligently fighting writing two essays to gain admission into seminary. I'm preparing to delve into a light-hearted true tale about students. I have high hopes that it be entertaining.

But first, hello.

Hello from this Sunday, Jan. 11, 2009.
A day that can't be repeated.
A day that should be remembered.
Here's what I'm seeing.
*a bearded red-head snoozing on a blue couch. He reminds me of a friend named John--and though he's not wearing them now, I have a feeling he rocks suspenders often. He was reading a book. I don't know what it's called. The spine and cover are resting on his crossed and reclining legs. I think he's been here a while: his iced drink has no ice.
*sitting snuggley close under a black-and-white painting of Darth Vader is a couple reading A Purpose Driven Life aloud.They go back and forth from book to a laptop the young man has on his lap.
*behind me is another couple working on a shared laptop. They're speaking another language. I'm not sure what it is. For sure not Spanish. For sure not French. Maaaaybe Arabic?
*the sound of scraping chairs makes this place seem active, though everyone around me is either sleeping or working.
*conversations can't be separated, not even the one in another language. It's all a murmur.
*The coffee in my mug was steaming 10 min ago, but is now the perfect temperature.

I think I shall drink it.