Claritin Time

I'm rocking myself in Justin's blue recliner, staring at the Pink Floyd poster above our kitchen windows. We've got party lights hooked up: an orange fluorescent, a green light bulb, and a blacklight. This place is baller, seriously. It's a typical bachelor pad, I guess - empty Jameson bottles line the tops of our cupboards, marijuana and it's accompanying toys lie around everywhere, and you can find one of seven 3-packs of condoms if you look hard enough.

I live with three incredibly daft people: Jared, Daniel, and Justin. They're not really daft (the jury's still out on Jared), but actually very intelligent people. Jared's the handy man who knows all sorts of random stuff about topics you'd normally find unimportant until the moment strikes. Daniel, well, he's just a genius. Certified prodigy, computer hacker, book-writer, bagel-eater... the list continues for kilometers. And Justin's the level-headed, collected guy who plays most all of his cards right and still avoids looking like a douchebag.

The community we live in is referred to by Justin as "Auschwitz" and comes complete with security guards, 24/7 streetlamps, and a padlocked trash dumpster. We've got access to the swimming pool and hot tub, the tennis and basketball courts, the playground near the office, and hotties working out in the exercise building. I'm normally the one to check the mail, so I roll myself a cigarette and light it on my way. It's a lovely little walk, and most of the time the alleys/streets are filled with kids or skateboarders or people walking their dogs.

I'm not sure how long I'll be here, but it's really pretty nice.

Hmm... Is this sufficient?