The girl had a flower pattern stitched on her backpack. She waited by the cigarette tower thingy, one foot planted, the other bent so only her toes touched the ground. She had a beer. The student-alumni mixer she had attended was starting to break up…the pizza was slow coming out of the kitchens and people were starting to pay cash at the bar for extra drinks because their tickets had run out. A professor had spoken for five minutes from a little podium.
“Don’t talk to people you know. For the next hour I’m going to play hall monitor and if I see you talking to someone you know, I’m going to say ‘Stop it. Talk to someone you don’t know. Cut the shit’.”