Jake Sully

It was a particularly raging Kanye-themed house party in Ann Arbor. One of our friends — identities hidden to protect the innocent — had brought a girl none of us knew that well and, when we weren’t looking, they commandeered the couch by the dance floor and started making out. And kept going. And going. “I’ve got an idea,” Kavi said. He went into the kitchen and raided a bag of microwave popcorn from the pantry, heated it up, then brought the bag next to the happy couple and had me take pictures of him munching on popcorn, watching the show, with this giant, crazy grin on his face. They smelled the deliciousness and tore away from each other long enough to see what we were doing. Very quickly the party became a massive popcorn fight. We were still finding kernels days later.