I can hear the sound waves stretching out already, some repetition of a recycled electronic rhythm rolling across campus over and over again. Some crowds of guys, walking around with the pretense of purpose, but their eyes betray their lack of destination. And several girls, strutting down the tarmac in tank tops, now smiling because God endowed them with the equipment to waltz into any one of these gatherings without a problem. Well, at least I won’t have to worry about giving birth.

As I walk further, the houses come into view on both sides. There’s one with a banner hanging out from the top, others with shiny, brown leather couches outside. I’m sure there are many families out there that would love a couch like that, but it must warm their hearts to know that they are being used for social mannequins and puke collectors.

I see a group ahead, clad in tank tops and colourful wayfarers, huddled together to take a picture. Each part of the photo will seem so natural when it is uploaded a few days from now on Facebook. The red solo cups casually dangling at their sides, the participants chosen, the position which is careful to show the larger party they are in. A shiver of excitement will go down the spines of those who see the notification that their picture has been uploaded and they have been tagged. Another page for their social portfolio.

Just strip it all away of its pomp and what is it now? A house you pay large amounts of money to live in or use with a large group of people you only get to know through a series of humiliating tasks, which is ameliorated by the parties you throw to invite more people you don’t know to get drunk with you and ignore everything together.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I look down at the rectangular screen and read the text: “Hey, leaving for the block party at 3 from High Rise Field, should be fun.” I remember the Facebook event inviting me to it. Lots of people I know were on the “going” list and I know there was an inordinate amount of alcohol there last time. I’ve reached the end of Locust now; it’s 2:55. I start walking back towards High Rise Field. I walk, I jog, I sprint.