First of all, there were the sleeping arrangements: the four roommates had dismantled the bunk beds in each of the two bedrooms and placed them side by side so that no one would have to sleep on top. Despite her efforts, there always seemed to be the pungent smell of male adolescence hanging in the air, that indefinable mixture of overactive hormones and unwashed clothes.īut in other ways, Suite H33 was different. Occasionally, one of the roommates' girlfriends would get so fed up with the mess she would throw out al l the rubbish, but the bouts of cleanliness never lasted. There were two bedrooms, each containing a bunk bed and a desk, interlinked by a hallway and a common room filled with the detritus of undergraduate life: half-empty cans of Red Bull, dirty laundry scattering the floor and crumpled brown paper bags containing the curling crusts of unfinished sandwiches. I n many respects, Suite H33 in Kirkland House, Harvard University, was just like any other student dormitory shared by four 19-year-olds.
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