In high school, we learn that stories have a beginning, middle and end.

Adi just told us that the end of a story has a resolution, a lesson that can be learned

or a meaning that can be analysed.

This isn't one of those stories.

This is just a few hours from a single night in the life of my high school friends and

I, a night when we bond into something that I still don't understand, and probably

never will.

Driving through rural America, you will see a lot of buildings that don't seem to have

a purpose.

Surrounded by dead fields or gravel parking lots, they just blend into the landscape.

The structures themselves are nothing special.

Concrete silos, corrugated warehouses, boat brick buildings painted white.

They seem abandoned.

No one goes in or out, but the structures remain, like a riddle without an answer.

September of my senior year, my friends and I decided to throw an impromptu party in

one of those buildings.

There were only three of us, but we had a stereo, some glow sticks and a video camera.

All we needed was booze and a way in.

Ryan, who was probably the oddest member of our little trio, showed up with some bolt

cutters.

While he had them, I still have no idea.

My buddy Derek snagged a couple of six packs from his dad's basement freezer.

...