"So the man is all up in Paisley Park. He can't eat. He can't sleep. This shit has consumed him. Like nothing ever has. Doves Cry? Garbage. Purple Rain? Garbage. Diamonds and Pearls? Garbage." Ben was a drug dealer. And, like every drug dealer, he never felt the need to shut up. Customers are the ultimate captive audience.
"That's a bad example. Diamonds and Pearls was already garbage." David was a resident assistant. An RA with a date. And a definite need for some high end social lubrication.
"Shut the fuck up about Diamonds and Pearls. If I wanted your opinion I'd read the Chuck Klosterman article you stole it from. Now, are you going to let me finish my story?" said Ben.
"Yes. Please. I am engrossed." said David.
"You'd better be." He gave David a meaningful look. "As I was saying. The man was obsessed. He worked under the cover of darkness in the coldest winter Minnesota ever saw. The funk was in him, and it had to get out. It took four sleepless days. The man taught himself the sousaphone and pan pipes because the sound had to be just right. He played forty nine instruments and tracked that shit all on his own. Because no one else could feel the vision. Forty nine! You know why he didn't do fifty?"
"Why?"
"Because the song didn't need fifty damn instruments! And when that song was done it was so funky, so sexy, so goddamn smooth that it was a WMD. You see Prince already knew how to make people dance. What he figured out was how to make people fuck. That song was forty seven minutes of sonic sexuality. You can't hear it and not bust a nut. When Prince realized what he'd done he freaked the fuck out. He was a Jehovah's Witness and he'd just written a jam that would make anyone sin. The Fuck Tape. But it was too fucking beautiful to destroy. So he hid it away in the vault."
Silence reigned for a minute, adjusted its crown, then vacated the premises.
"Why the fuck are you telling me this?" asked David.
"Because I have a very special offer for you today. I have your usual eighth, and I am willing to throw in an MP3 of this song for eighty dollars in total"
"So you want me to pay thirty bucks for your mixtape?"
"It is not my mixtape. It is the greatest thing Prince has ever done, and no one has heard it. Do you not trust me? Have I ever steered you wrong?"
"Trust you? You're my drug dealer."
"Bitch! I am an independent pharmaceutical salesman. My MLM is legit. You're going to college with the hope of someday making the money I make now."
David stared at Ben and chewed on the idea. Ben was, as far as he knew, the only pot dealer who delivered. And he was definitely pressed for time, because Mary was going to be here in half an hour. The situation sucked, and pissing off Ben was not going to make it better.
"It's a deal."
"You will not regret this. Just remember, don't listen to this thing with headphones."
"Because I'll nut in my pants?"
"No, because I care about your long term hearing loss. My man Prince did not forget the low end."
And with that Ben left behind a thumb drive, an eighth, and a wave.
------
The life of an RA in the graduate dorm was a boring one. Most everyone drank quietly in their rooms and rarely to excess. Roommate drama was kept to a minimum. People kept to themselves. And nobody gave a shit about what a twenty one year old RA had to say.
David didn't mind. The pay was the same whether he was bored or stressed, so bored was better. His duties mostly consisted of the day and night announcements and the occasional reminder about flushing the community toilets.
In a year filled with boring days this one had the potential to be a bit more. He had met Mary in his Sociology class. She was a Math major with eyes so captivating he barely noticed her chest. Though he had noticed it. They had hit it off as the only upperclassmen in an intro class, and she had asked to come over and study. Given that a lobotomized Chimpanzee could pass Intro to Sociology he was optimistic that there may be a secondary agenda, and had made his purchases accordingly. There was beer and wine in the mini fridge, a couple of freshly rolled joints on his nightstand, and a bluetooth speaker fully charged and ready to go.
In a concession to another possible reality he had typed up his notes and put post-its in the textbook, because if things went poorly he still wanted the A.
Mary arrived wearing a very large coat and a backpack, which tipped the scale towards studying.
"May I take your jacket?" asked David, gracious in defeat.
"Sure," said Mary. She threw her backpack on his bed, then pulled off her jacket. Underneath was a sweatshirt and yoga pants.
"And the game is back on," thought David. He took her coat and hung it on his closet hook.
"So, what do you want to study first?" Mary asked.
"I was thinking the poverty paradox?" said David. "Do you mind if I put on some music?"
"Sure," said Mary. She plopped down on the edge of his bed, and bounced in a way that was very distracting. Too distracting. David caught himself.
"Actually, can you give me a second. I have one thing I have to do." he said.
David picked up his phone and thumbed over to the intercom app. He cleared his throat, then spoke.
"Hello Cloins hall. Just a reminder that the game is tomorrow, so the west and south cafeterias will be closed for breakfast. Polk hall is expected to be closed for the rest of the week as they finish up the decontamination, and, lastly, community toilets are to be flushed after every use, no matter what that use may have been. No one wants to see your pee. Thanks Cloins. Go Antelopes!"
David then flipped over to his music player and queued up the song. Had he not been so fixated on Mary he might have noticed that the intercom app was still on. But he was so fixated. And he didn't notice.
____________________________________
Marla was beginning to suspect Trent didn't know anything about calculus. He was staring at her homework in what she could only assume was genuine confusion. This was not a trait one looked for in a math tutor.
