It's thirteen past one in the morning, and I'm sitting on bus 9950, traveling route 344 from College Place to Slocum Heights via Euclid and Westcott. There are eighteen passengers in addition to myself, and two of them are unbelievably drunk. Both are girls, and I'd wager freshmen (or maybe lightweight sophomores), and they are two of the loudest people I've ever encountered. They've been "singing" (shouting) the whole ride; I recognized "Maria" from Santana's album Supernatural but none of the others. "Jake," who's also had a few drinks but is handling his liquor far better asked them to be quiet, and now they're quite upset with him. One of them is taking a rather aggressive approach, accusing him of being a square, being sexually frustrated, being a closet homosexual (in far less polite terms). The other is trying to get him involved in "the fun," trying to show him how his own evening activities should make him as easygoing as them. Jake's keeping his cool.
The girls got off four stops too early. They had intended to ride to my stop. I'm not complaining.
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