Tory elbowed me and as if on cue, Max Rigel stalked his way past us toward the exit of The Orb with jam dripping from his hair and what looked like a bunch of bananas sticking out the back of his pants. He snatched them out, tossing them to the floor and some sad sap of a girl hurried to pick them up, running to her friends’ table where they preceded to start eating them. Gross. Do they have no shame?
