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"Who's first," says Tim, raising his wet hand and waving it. “We'll keep it controlled, then?" she whimpers, nervously. Tonya still holds a noticeable amount of trepidation. “So, now we can play a game of Truth or Dare?” Tim asks, boldly. Perhaps I was overreacting just a little.” "I guess that is a sensible way of looking at the difference between evildoers and sinners. "Yes," Tonya agrees, just slightly grinning. Lauren even kicks it by her tiny heel, swimming away. It falls backward with a small, unceremonious plop into the water. Tonya looks toward Lauren - as her sister sets the Bacardi bottle on the edge of the pool. If sin is carefully controlled, it can hardly harm anybody. We do it to loosen up, rid ourselves of unwanted inhibitions and actually enjoy life. Far be it from me to be hyperbolic, but sinning can be incredibly fun. "Of course, a sinner’s propensities are typically related to partying. I swallow a couple more ounces of foamy, golden-brown beer. Period."Īgain the thick-glassed bottle of Miller is angled toward my mouth. that just might be the worst transgression there is. The deliberate decision to hurt your fellow woman and man, well. Point being, the wrongdoing is malicious and fully intentional. Right? What’s evil, really? Evil is when you hurt - or, even - when you want or desire to hurt yourself or someone else. "Once again, bad guys commit acts of evil. now, they’re an entirely different subject." Tonya, is that a sinner - by very nature, at the core - does not intend to harm a soul. " I begin, trying to sound officious and knowledgeable. I'll listen," Lauren says, outwardly enjoying my introductory set up on the surface of her covergirl face with a tiny, pert grin. I grab the neck, open the bottle, swig a bit of beer, and brush water off my Scooby Doo designed board shorts. It’s located to the left side of my hip, a foot away and completely knocked over on its side.

"I'll let you know why they aren't the same," I say, after rediscovering my thirty-two ounce of Miller High Life. After dodging a new splash of soaring water, she erects her head and surprisingly her fuchsia fingernails slip like magnets away from each other in a sonorous snap, and - after lifting her same hand - she points at where I sit along the ledge. "Bad guys and sinners are pretty much one and the same thing," she says, intentionally glaring in my direction. Tonya deflects most of the water, showing impressive reflexes shielding herself by using hands and forearms as facial protection. He cackles and violently splashes a spray of water toward Tonya. Lauren." His suave, winsome grin grows several inches, conspicuously evincing his eagerness. They flicker, at light speed, other times conversely appearing to travel extra slowly. "We're not two bad guys," Tim argues, moving water with his outstretched arms, repeatedly widening them and carrying them inwardly again, doing so while kicking his legs. "Too immoral," Tonya warns, looking to Lauren with visible anxiety, until further vocalizing her genuine concerns: "I don't know, Vince. "Shit yea," Tim adds, as if similarly prunish. My fingers are beginning to wrinkle like my prune-shaped privates over here." "Tonya, you up for a game of Truth or Dare. Next I push myself up - using the flat surface of my slippery palms - and lift out of the water. Tonya watches my eyes, so I decisively flash her with a flirtatious smile. why don’t the ladies decide," I say, looking for my High Life and not instantly finding the fat, heavy bottle. "I'll go," Tim says, laughs uproariously. She whips her hair, flipping it left and right, inelegantly splashing her delicate, bony shoulders. Lauren raises the 70 cl bottle - pressing it to her lips, awkwardly - before draining the last of its contents. her parent’s) impressive estate about ten minutes ago. Other than a quick "Hello" to the both of us, she hasn’t said anything since our arrival. Tonya drank a shot or two of Raspberry Vodka, as well, which has barely loosened her up. Next she leers at Tonya, whom is vastly more coherent and nearly sober after drinking a can of Bud Ice. Her eyelids flutter - after she guzzles a few shots worth of liquor - and she continues to use her left arm for sustaining the Bacardi in air. She hoists the bottle above the pool's surface, as she wades in the six-feet-deep water, repeatedly pushing her right arm out to stay afloat. "Who is up for a game of Truth or Dare?" I ask, looking between Tim and the two girls inside of the pool, the back of my shoulders leaning against the ledge.