“Miracles. Events with astronomical odds of occurring, like oxygen turning into gold. I’ve longed to witness such an event, and yet I neglect that in human coupling, millions upon millions of cells compete to create life, for generation after generation until, finally, your mother loves a man, Edward Blake, the Comedian, a man she has every reason to hate, and out of that contradiction, against unfathomable odds, it’s you - only you - that emerged. To distill so specific a form, from all that chaos. It’s like turning air into gold. A miracle.”—Dr. Manhattan, Alan Moore’s Watchmen (via adrianscenteno)
Surrounded by hipsters, douches, and a few douche hipsters. One guy got on stage and demonstrated his guitar solo skills, presumably under the false assumption it would get him laid. Most of the people here are freshmen.