SEVEN!

We talk about important things- socialism, vegetarianism, Pynchon, Marvin Gaye. We drink a beer brewed on the premises called Brain Blasta. 7% alcohol by volume. I typed that correctly. It's a pun on braon blasta, an Irish phrase meaning tasty drop, which is what we call it for short; it's Christian name is tasty drop-kick to your sobriety.
After 2 of those babies, Cody dances. He makes white cool and then does the best moonwalk so Sean and I make him teach us and now I practice it every morning. Sean says, "I love all your clothes, man. You've got style." Cody says, "Well, I've been wanting to say that you, my friend, can grow a beard." I'm tired from beer and nights thinking instead of sleeping and Cody taps my elbow, "You hanging in there?"

It's 1:30. We write email addresses on the backs of free magazines and put them in our bags. Hugs are given, taken, returned to their owners tighter. Sean and Cody hug and I realize how tall Cody is and how neither of them begin patting. It would have been an awesome year getting to know Cody. I do know that.

Today Cody's getting on a plane back to the states and I'm going to read Lady Gregory, write a report, watch last week's Lost, go for a jog and call another of the numbers I got from class.