You decide to head in the direction of Dodd/Johnson/Sanford, thinking to yourself that things couldn't get worse. There must be a smiling face somewhere.

 You smell a strong scent of rum in the air-- that must be some party. You trip over something while crossing Downing Street, and look down to see Spinoza covered from head to tail in confetti. He belches loudly as you reach down to pet him. Suddenly, you realize that this was where the rum smell was coming from.

 "Spinoza, you're dru-- !" you start with a gasp. Spinoza stops this comment by giving you a look from hell and stumbling off toward the next party. Oh, the poor little kitty.

 You start walking in the direction he came from, hoping, praying for anything. Friends drive by in a car. They stop for a minute to look at you. The driver says something under his breath to the passengers, while looking at you out of the corner of his eye. This evokes a large amount of laughter from them. You laugh along with the joke that you don't understand. They peel out, leaving exhaust in your face. Now you get it.

 You wander for hours, bored as hell. Your favorite party locations from past semesters have condemned signs on the doors. You check each one. There are no lights on anywhere. The only sound you can hear is Bon Appetit conflicting with your stomach.

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