And in my class, I will talk most of the time and you will listen most of the time, because you may be smart. But I´ve been smart longer.

One of the other guys, the one who was either a little fat or worked out too much, came in behind Kevin...

The Colonel cut him off. "Enough with the psychobabble, MC Dr Phil."

I wouldn´t have cared if my girlfriend was a Jaguar-driving Cyclops with a beard - I´d have been grateful just to have someone to make out with.

But nothing matched a bufriedo, a dish created by Maureen, the amazingly (and understandably) obese Culver Creek cook.

"God, if I get in trouble my parents will kill me," I said.
"I suspect you´re exaggerating."

By the end, I wanted to crawl into Chip´s minifridge and sleep for a thousand years, but Chip seemed immune to both fatigue and heatstroke.

He believed that all drawers were created equal and filled each with whatever fit. My mother would have died.

The problem, he said in his essay, was that his dad always hit him with the books in his house, so Chip kept his books short and paperback for his own safety.

"Um, I know a lot of people´s last words." It was an indulgence, learning last words. Other people have chocolate; I have dying declarations.
"Example?"
"I like Henrik Ibsen´s. He was a playwright."
...
"Right, well, he´d been sick for a while and his nurse said to him, ´You seem to be feeling better this morning´, and Ibsen looked at her and said ´On the contrary,´ and then he died.

"I could do the rest, but it´d probably bore you. Something I learned over the summer"...

It was hot enough that your clothes stuck to you like Scotch tape.

...i.e. the ragtag bunch of drama people and English geeks I sat with by social necessity...