This week, one of his sentences jumped out at me. He wrote:
In college, I can remember one of those late-night, dorm-room, red-wine group conversations where everyone talks about where they're from, and somehow the conversation drifted to playground antics.
This begs the question - "Who-in-the-hell drank red wine in college?"
I can imagine the conversation about which Cayton-Holland writes. He is in a dark dorm room with several of his friends, all of whom also have hyphenated last names. The smell of clove cigarettes competes with incense, as if anything can prevent their collective black turtlenecks and berets from smelling like wet ash in the morning.
Party on, Adam.