It is Spring Break of 1988,

my senior year in high school.

I am in the public-housing apartment belonging to my friend Tom Rhodemyre, along with my three other best friends.

Tom's mother is foolishly away for a few days.

I am the least drunk among us.

One of us has thrown up spaghetti on the couch. I manage to get that reasonably cleaned up. His brother has stepped in it and spends the rest of the night insisting he needs to "warsh his feeties."

Mr. Rhodemyre, who is not particularly religious, is on the front porch preaching to an invisible congregation.

The last of us is for some reason lying reclined in the front seat of his car.

I get no sleep that night.

And, oh yeah, today's song of the day is playing.