Dirk Slengoid decided to get away from it all, so under the cover of night, he blew up a dark-colored raft and tied it up on the banks of the Cuyahoga River, and he went back into his hotel room and he dyed his hair blonde and he cut off his goatee and he put on eyeliner, threw on his backpack and left a tip for housekeeping and he went down to the bank and got in his boat.

Then he cut the line with his pocketknife and rode the rapids down the river, and he kept going until it emptied out into Lake Erie.  It was a rough ride, lots of close calls with rocks and carp leaping into his boat, which he would have to scoop out with his hands and just then another would leap in and then his boat sprung a leak, which he tried to patch with moleskeine, and then he got stuck in a whirlpool and for a half hour was going in circles, trying to paddle out, and finally he did–needless to say, by the time his boat washed up on shore, he was pretty tired but ready to start his new life.

Staggering out of his boat, he tied it up to a rock, and shook off the water and walked up the shore.  It was 11 AM and people were gathering on the lawn.  He didn’t know where he was and it didn’t matter.

“Dirk?  Dirk Slengoid?” asked a voice from behind him.  Dirk Slengoid turned around.  It was Mike Fenguis, a classmate from his college days.  The guy who always used to ask him what he got on his tests, and then would happily announce that he got one or two points higher. “Oh my God, you’re blonde!  You’ve got eyeliner!  Did you just get off that raft?  What’s up with you?!  I didn’t know you were coming to the reunion!  You big old dog you–always full of surprises!!!”

“Um,” said Dirk.  He looked around.  The Cuyahoga River is quite long, and yet it loops in a U-shape, and ends up only 35 miles from where it began.   Right at his class reunion. He looked around.  There was Maureen Thenworth, Chad McGordon, Mark “Stumpy” Erikson, and about 14 to 25 people he hadn’t seen in proably 15 years, and definitely wasn’t expecting to see today.

“Go get yourself a drink!  What have you been up to?”

Dirk felt the map in his back pocket and thought about making a break for the bus, which would take him to the woods, to a junked up little roadside hotel in about an hour and a half, if he made a run for it now.  Instead, he found his feet walking over to the beer tent.

“Sure, I’ll have a beer or two,” he said.

“More Blinding Light than you can Possibly Imagine” they said in unison.  This was their school motto.