I once lived with seven men: six engineers and one concert pianist. Right after I moved in, someone (spoiler, it was the pianist) took a shit in the bathtub and they all thought it was me, because they didn’t know what girls do in the bathroom. https://twitter.com/ginazwicky/status/1248313454471110657

Mark put a deadbolt on this door to protect his vacuum cleaner and Boy Scout neckerchief collection.

The freezer in Don’s lab broke one weekend, and he had to clean the thawed human heads out.

Dick had apparently been shitting in the tub all along, surreptitiously.

Travis fell asleep leaning against a support column in the hospital waiting room as his gf was being seen about a sprained ankle. He slid sideways, fell, hit his head, and died of a traumatic brain injury, in the hospital, where he was simply waiting on someone else.

Pete invented a bipedal robot and then got like a bluejillion Kickstarter backers for his “3D printing pen” which is basically a fucking hot glue gun that squirts filament.

Sam and I would wrestle every day. I’m a better fighter because of him. He’s dead now, too.

I always forget the last dude’s name because I barely saw him; he was doing core drillings of Antarctic ice for most of the time I lived there.

Brighton Center, MA was a wild place then.