Swine floozy or simply sickly reveler?
Dear scene,
I’m sick. No, it’s not The Swine. It’s nothing that romantic. I have no fever, no flattering flush on my cheeks, no delightful sheen on my brow. Rather than being quarantined and having meals brought to my room by doting suitemates and dining hall workers, I have had to face classes and daily life alone. My condition is as follows: a hacking cough and a debilitating cold. It’s been awful, scene. Simply awful.
Worst of all was my weekend. Determined to get out of my room and sample some of Yale’s party scene, I took a couple of Advil, stuffed some tissues in my pocket...
