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Downtown Tacoma. Sober. Tuesday night. Sitting at a bar, I believe the freshly twentyone have some of their most profound moments. This night however I believe the Zen will escape me (you elusive bastard Zen). Between momentary glances of big screen Sportscenter and small screen CHiPs, I struggle to maintain a forwardly mobile conversation with a beautiful doll from my graduating class. My mind is awash with pointless scores from uneventful games, from teams I don't even like, playing sports I don't even follow. Does she expect me to pay for her drink? Let us not get too hasty Champ. Just smile and nod as you are debriefed on the current relationships of every single girl in your senior class elite. Each Cheerleader. Each ASB Secretary. Each of the girls that up until the great social blossoming of the tenth grade, would sign yearbooks. -Dale, You are really funny. Have a great summer, or H.A.G.S., (which after decoding translates: Have a great summer) Stay out of trouble. Oh, what a fantastic day it was when they began to pen c-ya cutie followed by a phone number. And I never had the balls to call one. So now I find myself, uneasy and confused, but at the same time relatively optimistic as I cling to the delicate tablecloth that is the social fabric. A wise man once told me, "Life is like Disneyland when your twentyone and drunk.", but for some reason I can't shake the feeling that I'm the one in the Goofy suit.