Post by Cale Rosiér on Mar 5, 2008 23:27:10 GMT 1
Compared to the actual school, with all its intimidating due dates, deadlines, and punishments, the athletics were relatively lax on their policies. Being the team's top wrestler and the new captain, Cale Rosiér decided that he was too sick to go to wrestling practice. He was too damn sick of going. A buddy would give his excuse to the coach.
At his apartment, he began to study some poem titles and authors for the quiz the following day. He wanted to secure the night by finishing his work early. After 20 minutes of good, hard memorization, he shut down. He had kept a bottle of José Cuervo in the freezer for a long time now, saving it for a special occasion, but was starting to feel that this evening was special enough. He texted Ari, telling him that he should tell the team that the cool kids are invited over for tequila. (Not everyone on the team was all that fun to be around) He would get it after practice. Meanwhile, he threw back two shots to get an early start and fired up his cheap, blood red electric guitar. The hum of the amp was soothing, and Cale enjoyed it for just a moment before ripping into a solo he had been working on. It still sounded like garbage, so he had a lot more practicing to do. He decided then: Anyone complaining about the raquet could either take a shot and chill or take a dirt nap just outside his door. He would be more than pleased to oblige either request.
At his apartment, he began to study some poem titles and authors for the quiz the following day. He wanted to secure the night by finishing his work early. After 20 minutes of good, hard memorization, he shut down. He had kept a bottle of José Cuervo in the freezer for a long time now, saving it for a special occasion, but was starting to feel that this evening was special enough. He texted Ari, telling him that he should tell the team that the cool kids are invited over for tequila. (Not everyone on the team was all that fun to be around) He would get it after practice. Meanwhile, he threw back two shots to get an early start and fired up his cheap, blood red electric guitar. The hum of the amp was soothing, and Cale enjoyed it for just a moment before ripping into a solo he had been working on. It still sounded like garbage, so he had a lot more practicing to do. He decided then: Anyone complaining about the raquet could either take a shot and chill or take a dirt nap just outside his door. He would be more than pleased to oblige either request.