I roared those words to the drizzling sky, and on my cue, the thirty odd men and women of my floor rushed across the field, hand in hand, each with their own cry. Order soon broke down as one by one they tumbled and slid across the muddy field. Seconds later, we were all sprawled on the melange of grass and mud that was our playground.
Dardick two was going mud sliding.
Our floor had spent the last couple hours of the night in button downs and dresses, looking for a party and a good time, at the frats and drinking watered down vodka. It was inexplicably dull, people standing around in a stuffy room, hoping that their shot glasses had the elixir of fun that would let them ignore the slovenly guys and slurred gals. The only life in the party we had brought with us.
We dipped, a phrase that still has one of the guys on our floor confused. We walked, and it started to pour, completely drenching us. Then the collective realization hit: we were a troupe of freshmen, dressed up and soaked with nowhere to go. Well fuck you too thunderstorm, we're gonna have fun. The idea came up, and we spent the next hour in swimsuits tearing up the fields, ignoring friction, if only for a little while, getting absolutely filthy, and realizing that these people aren't so different from me after all, once their shells are down.
