After the Mexican party, we decided to host our own at the house where we lived without landlords. We invited a lot of people, bought drinks (I had already turned 21 by then, so I could freely buy alcohol). We drank a lot and started losing our minds – we began driving drunk in an unregistered car around the neighborhood streets. At one point, I braked somewhere at the end of the next street, and my brother knocked on the roof, like, HEY DUDE, NOT SO FAST, I ALMOST FELL OFF! That was something. I didn't even suspect he could be on the roof.

At that moment, quite a few people had already gathered at the house (some 30 Mexicans who appeared out of nowhere, with weed, cocaine, etc.). When my brother got behind the wheel again to burn some rubber near the house, police lights turned on simultaneously from different ends of the yard. It was scary, because my brother was underage, meaning he wasn't allowed to drink at all, let alone drive a car without license plates. I took my passport, I don't even know why, and went to help my brother while 30 drunk faces watched from the balcony. The cops turned out to be good. There are actually many such cops in America. What's the point of giving you a hard time? They don't take bribes, so they treat people like humans and can really understand the situation. So they understood us: students, a party, and all that. They asked my brother, "Have you been drinking?" And he replied, "just one beer," even though he looked like he had downed half a liter of vodka. So the cops were like, alright guys, don't drink anymore, get out of the car and go to sleep. We agreed to that option, not realizing at the time how lucky we were, as we could have gone to jail for that, considering people in the house were smoking weed and doing cocaine.

In general, we encountered many cops over the summer – good, bad, different. For some reason, we were very lucky with cops this year. Or unlucky, I don't know. But we had to deal with them almost every day for various reasons.