  Sitting side by side on the couch, myself, Brian, and DB relized that with the suddent departure of our fourth roomate, we could no longer afford our palacial digs that were affectionately known as "The Shack". D's girl was our fouth, and on the 3rd day she woke up early and said goodbye. It was exaclty what yu'd expect from a girl that would sign up to be D's girl and live wit ha bunch of Fucks like us.
With a baby grand in the corner, and the AC at a constant and quite honestly, uncomfortable 58 degrees, we needed a 4th desperatly. We began making calls to friends and friends of friends with promises of the finest wine, finest Irish women, and tip-happy tourists. We made no mention that they would be sleeping in a Dutch Oven. The newly vacant room on the second floor was basically a coffin with the low slanting ceiling and no air circulation to speak of. Temperatures had to reach 110 degrees during the day that summer. In fact, if your feet were hanging off the bed, they were probably in the hallway. It trully was fit for a king, or a sucker, and we had a taker. A. Tuss arrived the next day and was extatic at the promise of his new found summer. We collelcted his money before he entered, and the job hunt began almost immediatly, and turned up very little. He began to not only doubt the promise of tip happy toursits, but he wondered about the wine and women as well. It was then that we first saw the fury that was Mount Fussuvious. He exploded with rage, the rage only a 5'9" 130 pound 19 year old could have.
It was ferocious and hysterical all at the same time. Tuss was rarely taken seriously, and often the target of a good joke. His claim to fame was a self proclaimed superstardom on the High School track & field circuit and would take any comers in a 100 meter hurdle race. Truth is he wasn't much taller than the hurdles, but Tuss was a good time and a good friend. He would drink and raise hell with the best of them, and for that, he fit in perfectly.
DB lived upstairs also, but his room had AC, and he wasn't sharing. He is the guy who never changes. I met him the summer before when my brother brought him to live with us for the summer, and we became great friends. D is about 5 years older than us, but acts 5 years younger. D loves to smoke, drink, and curse, but most of all he loves to sit on his ass. The only thing that coupld piss D off was something that would wake him up before noon. He was the best roomate you could ever have. The thing about D was his little secret. I knew it, and every once in a while I could bait him into spilling it in front of a group of hot girls. We'd get to talking about what we looked like when we were younger, and I'd tell him to break out his license with his shoulder length metal hair, and there it was.
I waited for the inevitable laughter, as D's real name would soon be discovered. Lenny always hated his name, and went by his middle name Dave. I loved it, I loved the look in his eye when you'd call him Lenny. Priceless. Madden. If you've met him, there is nothing more to say. At 6 feet 190, he'll tell you he's all muscle, a brick shit house even. I say he's soft. He'll often pull up his shit to show you his ghostly white Irish skin and "6 pack".
He is the all american kid that you'd love even if he fucked you mom. Guarenteed there is a great story to go with it. Madden would often travel by bike and end up falling and spending quite a bit of time nursing his wounds in the gutter. Madden has a liver that hates him, and an uncanny ability of avoiding certain death. If you spend a night with him, fear for your life, have a bail fund, and enjoy the ride.
As for myself, I was mostly concerned with smoking pot. Nicknamed "the Smokefather", I generally didn't go anywhere or do anything without a buzz on. I owned everyone's weakness, and knew exactly how to get to them - all in good fun of course. This was my 3rd summer in Cape May, and I had the most tenure in our crew. We all waited tables at night and used my fake beach tags during the day. I refused to pay to go on the beach and for several years was making fake tags out of Entenmann's danish boxes and crayola crayons. Fuck them for charging me for building sand castles and pissing in the ocean. It trully was the summer that dreams are made of, whether or not those dreams came true was another thing all together. 
