I went running through a funhouse with every friend i've ever known. The structure lacked walls and ceilings, but had staircases galore. there were infinite bars, movies, funjumps, haystacks. we would sleep nights piled up in tiny bunk rooms like happy puppies. then the scenes slowed, the fun paused, and i found myself in a dark stairwell, paired with an aquaintance and moments later a dark man in a black coat. the man appeared to be one step classier than the traditional crackhead--boasting a nice set of stark white teeth. he then offered my friend crack, and he accepted before saying i'll be rightback wait here for me. they never left, but instead the stranger stabbed my friend with a small poisoned pin and he fell dead. then, the man swiftly jabbed the tiny pin into my bare thigh, and i passed out for what felt like 2 minutes. when i woke up and ran back to my group (not really upset about my dead friend) they were like, "whatt?? you've been gone for 4 hours we've been trying to buy you icecream and you missed so many photos!"

in reflection, i feel like this is a sped up composite of my college experience.