The students whose dress code usually involved visible underwear and little else, appeared in designer outfits and Sex-and-the-City heels, or elaborate traditional dress if their home country had such. Family and friends outshone the ramps of Milano or Paris, and the air hung thick with designer fragrances. And then, although still daylight, the Batcave emptied, and the flock of academic gowns rushed forth.
The Nostril Photographer was feeling depressed. Beyond just normal end-of-year depression. The Object of Men's Desires was also feeling depressed. And burned out. Year end seemed a distant dream.
Carnivorous Cow, on the other hand, had done depression two days ago. Having a short attention span, it bored her pretty quickly, so she went to the local drug emporium and stocked up on things that looked as if they should be smoked instead of swallowed, and started swallowing them. She glowed in the dark from vitamin overdose, but the silly smile that had been etched on her delicate bovine features since November began had returned. She didn't stare wistfully at ever passing pelvic girdle of sufficient size, as the Nostril Photographer did, but rather tried to reconstruct exactly how many alcoholic beverages she'd consumed the night before, and why she didn't have a hangover. it was one of Life's Great Mysteries, she was forced to conclude.