It was late afternoon on Monday, and Susan and Patricia had just enjoyed their first experience with marijuana. The savvy Lavinia, who had been the supplier of the herb, sealed off the door with towels (Susan thought of Sylvia Plaths suicide), and rolled them a joint, licking the corners in some obscure process that made Patricia think of her mother licking mountains of envelopes, when the time came to send those little bread-and-butter notes for Christmas presents.
But mind you I have ethnology tomorrow morning at 9:00, said Susan.
Shouldnt be a problem, said Lavinia.
Lavinia was from a blueblood family in New York City, and casually mentioned that they were friends with the people who had given their surname to this dormitory. Her brother went to Princeton and had a number attached to his name. Patricia sensed that she made some effort to conceal her Brahmin accent, and the result was a bit awkward, as though when she pronounced cant a