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everywhere,pizza and chicken boxes on the floors and tables, and the ashtrays were overflowing. Sleeping bodies covered every couch, seat, and almost every inch of the carpeted first floor of the house. On the coffee table a partially nude girl slept using what appeared to be her missing clothing for a pillow.
    “I can't wait to hear the story behind this one,” he mused as he viewed her naked body.
    Stepping over several of his friends he continued to the kitchen. As he pushed open the swinging doors he grimaced at the sound of squeaking hinges. In the kitchen he glanced at the wall clock. It was almost seven a.m. Stifling a yawn, he opened the refrigerator in search of something to eat. The entire contents consisted of beer in various forms—forties, cans, and sixteen-ounce bottles of beer—not even a cold cut was present. Several large pizza boxes were on the countertop. He went through them and discovered two slices of pepperoni pizza. After warming them up in the microwave, he wolfed them down with a cold bottle of Budweiser.
    Now that he had succeeded in killing his hunger pangs it was time to awaken his friends. As he exited the kitchen he realized that it would be easier to wake up Semo and Dre and give them the responsibility of arranging the trip. First he would have to find them—they could be anywhere in the house.
    Semo's house was larger than the average ghetto dwelling. It had four bedrooms and three bathrooms, plus a fully furnished basement. Semo was the youngest of three children. His older sisters had long since left the nest, one for ahigh-paying consulting job in New York, the other to become a baby machine for a Caucasian dentist in Atlanta. Though his father rarely came home, he never once forgot to pay the mortgage, the bills, and buy food for Semo. Semo's allowance was a hundred dollars a week, which he managed to squander on weed, beer, and gambling.
    Don found Semo sleeping facedown between two girls. “Semo. Semo. Wake up, nigga,” Don whispered from the doorway. “Semo, get up, nigga, I need you to stand on this business.”
    His friend stirred, but only to turn to the side and bury his face into the back of one of the girls. Walking into the bedroom Don stood by the foot of the bed and called him again. When Semo still didn't respond, he grabbed his foot and shook him harshly. His friend rolled over and sat up. With the back of his hand he wiped saliva from the corner of his mouth. Bringing his eyes into focus he finally acknowledged Don's presence.
    “Damn, Don, what is it?” he rasped.
    “Time fo you to get yo ass up, nigga. Damn, you look fucked up in the morning. All ugly and shit.”
    “Fuck you, nigga. Hand me my squares,” he said as he scooted to the foot of the bed. His movements woke up the other girl, who sat up. She didn't move to pull the sheet up over her bared boyish chest. Instead she looked Don up and down. Disinterested, she lay back down. Semo accepted the proffered Newports from Don. His friend raised his eyebrow at him and nodded toward the two women.
    With a gravelly voice Semo said, “Nigga, that shit come from fucking with that white liquor. You know gin make 'em sin. That shit have the bitches horny as hell. Personally I don't like it, but it turns them into some super freaks.”
    “I see,” Don said. “I was thinking, nigga. We need to go somewhere. Somewhere like Great America. Shit, we got the cheese. Can you put it together?”
    “I'm on it,” Semo said. “Now get the fuck out of my room.”
    At Great America, Don, Juanita, and the group went on all of the major attractions and tasted exotic foods. Don pitched quarters at one of the game booths and won Juanita a gigantic stuffed gorilla. Feeling like little kids, they got their faces painted and their names airbrushed onto their T-shirts. Everyone met at closing time and they boarded the bus for home. The trip home was decidedly different than the previous trip—everyone was exhausted. There was no