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The words rang in Doug's head like a mantra or a repeating bass line in a catchy song. "Fifteen Minutes," it repeated. Fifteen minutes was the length of the movie he had to create in two months for his final project. This made it impossible to tape random events in the street as a movie and pass it off is avant-garde. No, what this meant to the crowd of freshmen, was that they had to write and direct an actual plot.

In Doug's class, the word "plot" was like a terrible disease, because when you started to write substance, you sell out, and lose the impression of being an art-tiest. So, it was normal for a freshman to hit the bar, face down, the night after the news hit.

The freshman movie was a tradition for young UCLA students. Nobody thought of it as a big deal. In fact, it was customary to suck it up and accept your fate, a C+ and a long list of suggestions.

He had never been into the same things the other kids were in to, at least most of them. Black sweatshirt, listening to Death Cab for Cutie, making plans to see the world, he was so young and naive. His head hit the bar as he took it all in. All the scenery, all the time he would spend here instead of working, the whole procrastination complex filled his mind.

A voice rang through his ears unexpectedly. "You look sort of young," it said. Doug's head slothfully rotated to its left. The voice had come from a girl, about Doug's age. Her black hair was back in a ponytail and a tight pink hoodie hugged her body and led down to her black studded jeans. Her converses made her a perfect cliche.

Something about her made Doug think. He didn't know if it was the fact that he saw some of him in her, immature and adolescent or that he was lonely, even since high school. However, he didn't want to get involved with anyone. He didn't really know why, maybe it was his last girlfriend he had in high school. There was a reason he tried to escape.