Somehow I've made it out of my childhood, only to find myself trapped behind a crowded bar in my early twenties, desperately trying to recreate someone else's idea of a rite of passage. My friend Rachel hands me a neon-green beer koozie and I awkwardly place it around an almost-empty Pilsner. Why do people insist on these things? The koozie's faded 'I <3 beer pong tournaments' slogan glares at me, an uncomfortable reminder of the evening's main event: drinking games.
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