It was exactly what we had needed to collectively welcome the impending summer. By early evening, people filled our modest house and had spilled out into the garage and yard. I hustled home after turning in my final paper for the year, my phone abuzz with friends looking to confirm party details. Preparations began early, intensifying with the arrival of a few eager friends surreptitiously drafted to help ready our divey house for guests. I lived near the university in an older split-level with four friends I had grown up with. Fortunately, many of my friends shared a similar sentiment, and we decided to throw a small end-of-semester bash at my home. I've never been one for big crowds, and the idea of being surrounded by my belligerent neon-clad peers, soaked in mimosa and blaring top-40 mash-ups was hardly the way I wished to usher in my well-earned freedom. Bermuda Shorts Day at the University of Calgary meant that the campus was filled with underdressed students skipping their final classes to start drinking earlier than the lectures they slept through all year. Apstarted like any other end-of-semester day.
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