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Show 160 Bodies shifted along the perimeter of Steve and Tamara's small apartment. Tamara was living there at the time, and she tried to keep people from sitting on her metal elephants that guarded both sides of the couch. The small kitchen blurred into the living room with carpet as a barrier, and there was a door into the bedroom, which you had to walk through to access the bathroom. The light switch was on the outside of the bathroom-and this was exactly the kind of crowd to rum the light switch off, or off and on repeatedly if you were in there. Another reason to vomit off the balcony. I opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the wood where I could hear Steve's vomit connecting with the car below, the same sound as a large pile of slush from a fast moving car splattering on the windshield of a parked car in winter. I was still a little bit embarrassed that I had shown some passion in our earlier argument about who would win in a fight: Wonder Woman or the Angel Moroni, the gold angel on top of Mormon temples. And a little more embarrassed that I was still kind of upset about it. Is he going to trumpet her to death? Is that what you think, Steve? I asked him if he was all right, and he said yes, he was just vomiting as a statement. Then, between hurls, he started talking about what he was going to do after he finished his political science degree at the end of the year. He said he'd narrowed it down to serving a Mormon mission, marriage, or joining the Marines. "The three Ms," I said. "Yep." |