There were twenty one people in the room, ten by twelve. You could smell the liquor and tobacco in the air, that is, if you were able to breathe. Right outside, you would find a person relieving himself. If the hygiene in the room was questionable, the street in front of the house was strewn with litter, and even an old sofa that looked like it was dropped from thirty feet. You could see them cook, out in the open, relishing the late spring evening and the refuse they disposed right there.
The six storey building was no mere shanty. On the bright side, the house party had some colorful conversations. From freshman to post docs, they would eventually discuss the state of third world countries and those appalling slums. After all, the first world finds as much relevance in the topic as the third world.
