Larsen Lewis knew that Jaeger meant “hunter” in German but he had no desire to rough it in the bush for venison. The only thing Larsen Lewis cared about was the hunt for a good party.

Technically a pre-post graduate student, Larsen had amassed a whooping three hundred credits from Essington’s college right outside of Minneapolis.

He lived for the collegiate camaraderie & day drinking lifestyle his half day elective heavy schedule allowed.

His blonde mustache was combed to silky perfection as he readied himself for yet another night out. He’d pop over to Tin Kitty’s for a quick vodka soda and a peep at the cabaret dancers. He fancied the wildly boisterous & utterly disarming, Bella Spanx. Her fiery story counteracted a midwest, Polly pocket charm that sent many a head spinning & hearts broken. Still, Larsen gave her a near daily smile— hoping that she might return it eventually.

Moving on, he sauntered over to Jim Wrigley’s for a ferocious debate on the ethics of corking a bat and who deserves the all time home run title with the cadre of decorated veterans that kept Jim plush in stimulus cash and light in Miller High Life’s.

As the night begins to ramp up, Larsen affixes a trademark Celtic braided band on his left ring finger— in the hopes he’ll attract the tabooed glances and halted sanctity of his fake marriage. He hadn’t succeeded yet, but he knew he’d hit his windfall soon.

It’s not until midnight that he truly finds his stride— that’s when Larsen arrives at the holy trinity. Top Elks, Mowers, and Skyland— the top three bars in the hip district of the Ovold neighborhood. Skyland was the finish point with its heavy pours and wide dance floor.

On off nights, he’d sit on a stool and wonder why he hit on girls who couldn’t tell their syllabus from a silly bus, but the soaked heart wants what any rapidly aging late twenties’ ne'er-do-well wants. A woman that finds his beer laden breath enticing as his aimless scholastic adventure.

If he struck out— which he never did because he’d refuse to get up to swing, Larsen would head to the best late night pizzeria in the twin lakes— Pete’s Pies. One Alfredo chicken with extra bacon and artichoke hearts was the necessary salve for another night alone— but Larsen didn’t worry too much. He knew once he picked a major the ladies would see he had his life all figured out.