Dead Tired, Dead Reckoning?

I was at the bar tonight, and there was a fight. My girlfriend Cara and her roommates were just a few feet from the initial conflict (which happened to be a couple drunken fools throwing what I called at the time "idiot punches" -- meaning a left jab to the air above your opponent's head followed by a right hook to the air by his sides). I screamed for the girls to get away, but they didn't move. The way these drunk guys were punching, any of them could have been hit accidentally. Cara, at least, rushed out of the way. As we were gathering everyone to leave after the fight, two or three more fights broke out.

My friend Joel, who I don't usually see at the bar, was there. He said when he saw the first guy come back from across the street with a bottle in his hand, he knew there was trouble. I saw the same guy smash the bottle over another man's head. Weak stomaches beware. And then he stabbed him in the face with the broken bottle. His eyebrow was bleeding pretty good, and at that point the straggling roommate finally followed us. She's leaving for the weekend, so she said long goodbyes. I was frustrated by the fact that our entire group stayed for so long. My rule in life is "if there's a bunch of drunk idiots fighting, get away." We eventually succeeded. Not before I got really stressed out, though.

Regardless of the stress, I had a few great conversations tonight. Joel, who is also a literature major, and Bobby, who is an American Studies major, kept me entertained. I told them I should have picked an "easy" book on which I should my senior thesis. Great Gatsby, I said. Everything is a symbol!

Then we came up with a few good joke thesis titles, including Jay Gatbsy...More Like GAY Gatsby: Homosocialism in The Great Gatbsy and my favorite, by Joel, which was Gatsby: Gattaca? Good times.

Additionally, Bobby and Joel informed me of their idea to go back in time, stick a dirty poem under Keats' pillow, and later reveal Keats' lost poem, "My name is John Keats / I love teats." Or the dirty poem they left in Frost's desk drawer: "Two roads diverged / I took them both / THREESOME!" Wow.