The three of us walk out to the main road around nine o'clock to get dinner. Coming home, crossing the field in front of frat row: a girl stumbles along the pavement in the opposite direction.

"You think she's drunk?" asks my friend. I watch her for a few seconds. "Yeah," I say as she passes us, head down and walking fast.

A few feet ahead, we're stopped by a man who asks, "Are you girls from A.D.Pi?" We're dressed casually and obviously not headed to any parties tonight. Not the sorority types.

He's trying to make sure this sorority girl gets home. We turn to see her break into a run, then stumble and fall hard to the ground.

"Are you ok?" She looks at us with eyes blurred, filled with indignent pride. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm fine, ok, thanks. I'm fine." We leave her to find her way home with the guy.

"What a bitch," my friend says.

I raise my eyebrow in the darkness. "Nah. She just doesn't want us to know she's messed up." When you lose control like that, something in you tries to assert itself and insist you are in control.