Rory

Rory came from a poor family, attended public schools until college, and promptly won a scholarship to Brown. It did not seem particularly advantageous for Brown to offer this young man a free ride. Rory wanted to be a post-postmodern philosopher. He had gotten excellent grades by paying astute attention in class, and by hounding his teachers before and after class for guidance. He studied extremely hard, and was properly rewarded, but unfortunately he was never given the gift of self-expression. His essays often turned out clunky. They were only given good grades by his teachers because they had known how hard he worked on them. His enthusiasm was brilliant, but talent continued to elude him.
On Friday October 24th at 7:52 PM, Rory rang Luther’s buzzer and was promptly admitted to the building. He had brought a brown paper bag with him. Its contents were a one-liter bottle of whiskey, and a two-liter bottle of cola. Also in the bag was Rory’s flask, which he had often brought along to bars, even though a few bartenders in the past had seen him slipping one down in the shadows, and then said something to the effect of, “That’s not cool, man.”
Luther opened up his door and Rory was taken aback by the aroma of scented candles. They greeted each other, walked into the kitchen, and exchanged minor pleasantries about their days.
“Like a drink?” Rory offered.
“Make mine a double.”