Ian lived in a fraternity house on Milledge Avenue up the street from 3D. He was the expatriate of the foursome, a photographer among the natives. He had first met Travis when the two lived in the dorms together their freshman year. Nothing much had happened then in that first year, but in their sophomore year, the two figured out that they had a common thread: the criminal element. After a long discussion at a coffeehouse one night, they had decided that between the two of them, they could make fake drivers licenses for a decent profitTravis doubly so because he could increase the number of people at his shows. A friendship was born. There was more at stake, of course. It wasnt long before Travis as a musician came to know and appreciate the nuances of photography, and Ian came to know Traviss music. Even as artists of different mediums, they both “got it.”

Rather than move in with Nick, John, and Travis, though, Ian had opted to live at his other brotherhoods house: Tau Kappa Epsilonthe Tekes, as they were known. They had smart guys, big guys, little guys, fast guys; guys that werent geniuses but were good at heart, and guys that were brutes but clever. There were a few good ol boys thrown inthe kind that you cant not liketo spice up the stew. The Tekes were anything but a typical frat. They partied like all the other frats on the row, but they had a number of assets that set them apart. Ian was one of themat least in the minds of John and Travis, whod both been offered spots in the brotherhood. Probably, they were asked to pledge for no other reason than they were at the house as much as some of the older brothershanging out with Ian, generally wasting time and graciously partaking of the fraternitys alcohol supply. Both refused membership offers, pleading lacks of funds.

Walking in the back door of the house, John and Travis thread their way through an aftermath of some monstrous hive creature called a kegger. They shuffle past an empty ice machine and beer cans strewn across the floor, into the main television room, looking for occupants. Apparently no one was up yet. Despite the house’s exterior, that of a southern antebellum plantation home, the late twentieth century had been the interior decorator, filling rooms with salvation army furniture, televisions, a VCR and a pool table. Most of the house was as crumbling and peculiarly decorated as the vast majority of college student apartments in town. Travis and John make their way up a staircase that at one time must have been quite regal. Now the paint was peeling and the wide stairs made untrusting squeaks. At the top of the stairs was a small foyer containing a couch and four entrances to bedrooms. They approach the back corner door and knock hesitantly, then Travis pushes the door open to peer inside.

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