The morning began as usually. I woke up from screams of the enraged alarm clock at seven, unstuck my eyes, turned it off and fell back into bed for another hour and a half. At half past eight the sun started shining through the straw-color blinds, and then I got up, ate my usual cereal and went outside.

I had no classes that day. I worked for a while in the computer lab, then killed half an hour in a chat room (same people there all the time, how could they waste so much of their time?), and at one o'clock I was already in the swimming pool. The water was cool and pleasant as usually. I swam my thirty pools. On the sun deck, a girl and a guy were gently breaking up. She kept her sad eyes on the ground, and he was comforting her the best he could. The sun was soft, and the girl's hair was straw-color, just like my blinds.

I left the natatorium. On the grass near the entrance, broad-shouldered female swimmers in garish swimsuits were cycling their legs in the air. By the time I got to Stubbs Hall, my hair dried up. I had a noble dream to dedicate that afternoon period of my life to my graduate assistantship, but then my stomach interfered. It persistently kept urging me to go and have a lunch with my new credit card. The card was black, with the image of the library and the "University of Louisiana at Monroe" inscription on it. I kept showing it to everyone that day, but it didn't work in "Wigwam." The Black cashier woman kept swiping it for a while, then asked me for cash.

After the lunch I studied in "Wigwam," reading about dispersion and looking through the window at the fountain, past which my Indian student acquaintances were passing. Two tables away from me, two couples were sitting and eating. The girl had a boyfriend. And the other girl had a boyfriend. And the Indian guy had another Indian guy. Only I had no one. I became angry and almost hit a metallic support with my fist.

On the restroom wall, a request not to throw paper towels into the commodes was hanging, and on the wall across from it someone had scribbled an offensive joke about niggers. Throwing paper towels into the commodes I was not; instead, I left the restroom and went to the Student Union. There was going to be an International Student Welcome Party, myself being in charge of public relations. The public that came was many; at the entrance, each representative of the public was stuck a nametag to the chest. Zaur was all over the place, a vulgar sticker "NEED VODKA?" on his back and a bottle of "Smirnoff" in his pocket.

Munching on crackers while waiting for pizza, the people first played acquaintance games, and then elected a new committee. Zaur and I went into the men's restroom (just like at a prom) and split the bottle. The mixture of vodka and coke turned out nasty and didn't go well; we had to wash it down with vodka alone. In response to my remarks that he was committing violation of two laws (no drinking under 21; no alcohol on campus) Zaur shared with me unambiguously where he had shoved these laws.

The alcohol changed my perception of reality right away. I wanted to meet everyone, I had something to talk about with everybody. The people lined up for pizza. I, finally, met a girl with who we had been exchanging nods for the whole year. Her name was Piyapa, and she was a Thai beauty. Her nose was a bit aquiline, but she still looked very cute.

In the corner, Chinese students were watching the opening ceremony of the Olympics in Sydney on a large TV screen.

The party was over. We went into the night outside. Someone brought up an idea to go to "Chelsea." In "Chelsea," it was great: lots of people, live music, and no one asked us for ID.

Piyapa and I went outside and I asked her to be my girlfriend. She answered that I was too fast; it had only been two hours since we met. But I still could see that she felt good with me.

We came back into the bar. Our Bosnian students were drinking Heineiken and smoking. I kissed Piyapa; she pretended she was insulted. I kissed her again; trying not to laugh, she said that I'd probably go home by foot. She had white Mitsubishi. I said I would if she'd go by foot too, but we did take the car in the end. I invited her in for a munch.

My roommate was not at home. Piyapa turned my chicken patties down, and we sat down on the carpet, swallowing up ice-cream. We chatted about our studies and about our assistantships. Piyapa took off her sandals and stretched her legs. I put her feet on my laps and started rubbing her soles. Her feet were just perfect. We felt good together. I was already rubbing her knees when my roommate came. Piyapa jumped off me. My blockhead roommate, instead of going to his room and getting lost there, sat down with us and started talking a conversation. Piyapa was about to go. I saw her to the car and kissed her good-bye again.

In the dead of the night, I woke up and couldn't fall asleep again. Shining red digits on the clock displayed quarter to three. At night, thirst fairy often comes, so I went to the kitchen. Having filled a glass, I burned my throat, sore from shouting over the music in the bar, with coke. On the table, there were remainders of junk food from the party — a bag of Ruffles and a wicker basket, full of crackers. I kept my eyes on it for a moment and thought that it had been long since I saw roaches at our place, and that one would probably show up out of the crackers now. Before this thought left my head, the paper on the basket moved, and a giant black roach crawled out from under it. I had never seen such a big one at our place. The roach moved its antennas and crawled under the basket.

I dashed into bedroom for a slipper. When I lifted the basket, the roach instantly ran over under the tray. It seemed the tray would move off and start crawling. The roach went running along the wall. I threw it off into the sink. The roach was rushing about in it chaotically, trying to climb out by its slippery walls in vain, when my slipper blow caught with it. Its entrails splashed outside. I convulsed with disgust and turned on the water to wash the sole. The roach suddenly came to its senses and went running, dragging its rear legs. I hit it again. Some more yellow paste squeezed out of the roach, but it kept crawling stubbornly, leaving a wet trace behind. The third blow it received was aimed at its head. The roach froze. I grabbed paper towel, used it to take the roach, and threw it into the toilet. I flushed it, but the roach came to life again. I saw it moving its legs in the whirlpool.

In the bedroom, I sat down on the bed. I wasn't quite myself. I turned on the air conditioner, took a pen and a paper and before 6AM I had written this story.