Kafka

Your roommate's a party animal. Woops. Guess his interests in math and analysis only extend as far as his dick. His favorite hobby? "Tutoring." Yeah. He works his game in the fucking 2nd floor of the Regenstein. Absurd?

Not quite.

Picture this. You've just finished an essay on Kafka. Your eyesight is tinted orange from being under green lighting panels for 10 straight hours. You open the door and collapse into bed.

Thud thud rustle... snarl?

You're awoken in the middle of night by what sounds like a cat falling out of bed. A vaguely human shape crawls up. Her hair makes her look like that chick from The Ring. She gets back into bed... and they resume. In front of you. You can see every little detail. Missionary, doggy, cowgirl, front and reverse. Midway through it they start talking in Korean.

Your first thought, then, is not how badly this will suck for you in the morning, when you wake up and see two naked people collapsed three feet from you. No, crude thoughts like that are for people in Evanston. Your first reaction is... what would Kafka say about this? The absurdity of the human existence?

It's only when you wake up in the morning that you realize how far down the Hyde Park rabbit hole you've gone.