Walking through the worn grounds of UCR with a leer and swagger reserved for the worthiest of Highlander student body, Quincy Reese knows he’s a baaad man. Drizzled in a trite, pleather coat that hangs just above his Doc Martens—considered a tribute to childhood hero Keanu Reeves—Mr. Reese states life as a third-year Economics major is business and “doors are open 24/7.”
“The guy’s an enigma, but he’s bat-shit for real,” commented Alan Yeun, Quincy’s freshman year roommate. “Aside from having to compensate for the hours he spends alone on his mauve laptop with his faux ‘cool-guy’ guise and blatantly fictionalized accounts of his sex life, he only speaks in business idioms. While mourning a break-up my first year, his words of comfort were ‘Money never sleeps’!”
Considered a self-proclaimed playboy in-and-out of the doors of current residence Falkirk “suites”, the former laser enthusiast says his endeavors amid the school’s sensual scene has led to physical ailment in the past few days. Proposing the fatigue be due to the ongoing week-long midterm epoch, Quincy was quick in rejecting the “simple man’s excuse” instead claiming the symptoms be connected to a cheek-reddening illness instead.
“It’s Mono. They call it the ‘Kisser’s Curse’, you know,” Quincy declares, with a wink of the eye, raising of the brow, and swift lick of faint strands of facial hair that muster together to form a quasi-mustache. “I mean, I’m not a player, but I kiss a lot. I don’t know, women respond to a man with class. I expected college to be exciting for a guy like me, real nine-to-five work, and it’s been a cutthroat market not fit for the casual Jack. Capisce?”
“I’ve never heard someone brag about the prospects of having Mono,” confessed Korbie Sandalwood, current roommate of Quincy’s. “Doesn’t make a sliver of sense. Guy barely leaves his room and he dresses like he chose the red pill. Makes you wonder what a person’s willing to say for a shot at attention.” Korbie admits he fails to reach out to Quincy after an incident where Korbie walked in on Mr. Reese during their first week of rooming to discover him making a shrine for singer/songwriter, Daughtry.
Symptoms of headaches, infrequent sneezing, swollen-ish tonsils, and bodily fatigue emerged and served as a badge of honor for Mr. Reese. While some close to Quincy attribute the symptoms to his average time of rest (3-4.5 hours) a night and crippling diet of Squirt and brownies, Mr. Reese is quick to counter the nay-sayers.
“High risk, high reward. That’s the name of the game. One must pay the cost to be the boss, but loyalty’s also one of the few things I can’t buy. If I could, these people would be on my team!” exclaims Quincy.
As an effort to expose Mr. Reese for his crude, unsettling tales of smooching, Korbie and nugatory but dependable roommate Baltimore Sinclair organized a private conversation with Quincy to uncover supposed names of his lovers. With a hidden mic, the two roomies gathered a total of fifteen names.
Thirteen students, along with two employees from the local Baker’s, have rejected any involvement with Quincy Reese.
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