Looking back, Halloween of 1999 seems like a different world. I was 20 years old, a pink-haired punk who wanted to fuck both the system and any number of the circle of friends I had at the time, who were open-minded and like-minded, discovering their sexuality and how to wear it. It was before 9/11 and everything that followed, and our major cultural concern was the approaching millenium, *fin de siecle* turned up to 11. Everything we knew was ending, we had no idea what was ahead of us, and there was an overwhelming feeling that we were running out of time.
Which is a pretentious way of explaining why we’d pre-gamed so hard that night, and why we were still in Chase’s dorm room hours after the party that was supposed to be our second stop had begun.
“I don’t know how comfortable I am with this,” Paige said, cupping her breasts through her outfit, a little black dress just the wrong – or right, depending on your perspective – side of sheer.
“Looks good to me,” Chase replied, smiling as he took a pull from the joint in his hand and passed it to me.