By Terrence McCoy
By Scott Fishman
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Allie Conti
By New Times Staff
By Ryan Pfeffer
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Kyle Swenson
The homeless man looked skeptical but he reached for the blue plastic cup. He took a sip and cringed. He threw the cup down and spit into the sand. The Ball State spring breakers were in hysterics. "Holy shit, dude," one said. "We just got a homeless guy to drink piss — how crazy is that shit?"
By Thursday, Kacey, his face still bluish, was wistful. With one more night left in Fort Lauderdale, he was at Sloppy Joe's in BeachPlace for a wet T-shirt contest. Blitzed, he became nostalgic for the trip he was still on. "These are the best times in our lives," he said. "I'm serious about that."
The wet T-shirt contest had been scheduled for 11:30 p.m. It was almost 1 a.m. and still no girls had signed up. They were just feet from where the Candy Store Lounge once stood, where the wet T-shirt contest was born. In the '80s the Candy Store was the epicenter of the party-as-a-verb spring break crowd; when it was razed, in 2002, it made way for the St. Regis, the first five-star resort in Fort Lauderdale.
Kacey circled the room, hugging girls he'd met earlier in the week, raising drinks to toast the good times, soaking up the last drops of the party. He thought about the drinking, the drugging, the hellacious lasciviousness, and decided that this had been the best week of his life so far.
His phone vibrated. It was a text message from a girl he'd met on the beach and seen a moment ago near the dance floor. It said "I want 2 make love 2 u in this club 2nite."
Kacey looked at his buddies. If this had been an '80s party movie, this is where the screen would fade and the credits would roll to cheery music replete with a blazing saxophone, but life is not a movie. So Kacey spread his legs and bent his knees and, clearly feeling all the joy that is a depraved spring break gone precisely according to plan, he pumped his fist in the air.