Too Cynical To Sleep

I've been re-reading "Watchmen," by Alan More and Dave Gibbons. It's a graphic novel (not a comic book!), and one the finest I've ever read. If you've studied any philosophy, or ever wondered what kind of superhero you would be, this is the comic book to read.

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I don't know what else to write about, so here is a tale of The Apartment, or as I lovingly referred to it, "The Den of Sin." (My roommate Phill Rush and I lived together (as roommates tend to do) in an apartment on Mill Avenue) Our group of friends had discovered the drinking game of Kings, which opened the door (literally) to a whole world of antics. I hazily recall one night, after several rounds of the game, that a dare card was drawn. Phill was dared to run streak out of the apartment, out of the complex, and across the street, and then back. This wasn't much of a dare for Phill. But in a flurry of drunken logic, I concluded that I, being his roommate, could not let him go alone. And off we went.
Phill was quite experienced at it, so he was far ahead of me and had already made it across the street just as I was reaching it. Although the hour was late, streets tend to attract cars, and I saw a pair of hazy lights approaching. Phill quickly jumped behind a tree, while I did my very best to act casual. I began to whistle and tried to stick my hands in my pockets. Of course, I had left my pockets back with my pants, so somewhere out there is a driver who has seen a naked man with a very simian expression on his face furiously trying to plunge his hands into his outer thighs. I never did make it across the street. Not that time, not that night.