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Friday, February 23
12:15 a.m.
Patrons of Linda’s Bar & Grill on Franklin Street enjoy the circle of warmth,
light, music, laughter and alcohol inside the popular bar.
Outside, icicles decorate the awnings of stores and restaurants. A young cou
ple walks past the bar and sings along to a few lines of the mellow hip hop audi
ble from die other side of the wide window.
Inside, a surprise carding disturbs the tranquility of drinking students. One
rushes out to prevent her underage friends from entering the bar. They wait out
side, knocking icicles off Linda’s roof.
1
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12:24 a.m.
The P2P pulls up at Craige Residence Hall, where many students are milling
around, wearing flannel pants and shivering in blankets.
A fire alarm had gone off (above), causing students to leave their warm rooms
apd stand outside in the brisk air.
While the incessant beeping and flashing lights from the alarm continue, stu
, dents remark about the slowness of the fire department,
i “I ain’t seen no fire trucks yet,” one girl exclaims in a Southern drawl.
12:25 a.m.
A passing group of bar hoppers stops to shout advice to a BMW
attempting to parallel park in a tight spot.
“You got it! Turn now - are ya going to make it?” (Crunch.) “No! Ooh.
Back up - OK!”
The driver, Pattie Vargas of Raleigh, gets out to examine the bumper
of the car behind her. Fortunately, neither car sustained as much as a
scratch.
“And I managed to get into that spot just right,” Vargas says proudly.
1:23 a.m.
Davis Library is quiet
The security guard whispers as she asks the few students entering to show their ONE Cards.
A short beep goes off near the exit but soon cuts off. “Just a false ahum,” she says.
Barely a soul can be seen with the exception of a few students on the computers. One empty terminal is open
to UNC Webmail, where a student must have forgotten to log off as he rushed off to enjoy his Thursday night.
The second floor is more populated. Students are studying at almost every table.
One student is sleeping in
a comfortable chair. His shoes
are off and his dreadlocked
head rests on his arm crossed
over his chest. A green high
lighter sits on the table under
his hand, having dropped
when he drifted into sleep.
At the nearby Reserves
Desk, three employees laugh
and joke loudly, disturbing
the near silence emanating
from all the other comers of
the building.
jfr
The Smith Center is a sleeping giant at the bottom
} tm B mm tory the previous evening wiped away. A white stillne
f Mk fg ip gg fm Mm ketball team, not a line of cars or a throng of fans.
gk jg “ ™ M Ayldenfa. the stoplight turns green, the direction c
lr Wk B s4£nas bflßi to glow, its edges springing to life.
Students s
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Mr JH Love power-wal
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1:30 a.m.
On the comer of South and Raleigh roads, a solitary figure plays in the ice. Now
stomping around to hear it crunch, now picking up a piece and tossing it over the
wall to the sidewalk to see it shatter, he is oblivious to the occasional passing car.
His breath comes out in short-lived clouds of steam. Behind him looms the hulk
ing skeleton of the under-construction extension to the Student Union. Echoes off
Fetzer Gym across the street create complex rhythms as he dances on the ice. The
sound is huge and hollow in the darkness.
Suddenly, he gives a final stomp and walks away toward Franklin Street.
2:17 a.m.
There have been surprisingly few revelers on Franklin Street for a post-basket
ball Thursday night, but those who are here don’t seem to mind the cold.
A group of three students leaves Hector’s, talking and laughing loudly as they
slowly advance west on Franklin Street.
One girl halts, pulling her friend’s sleeve to get her to stop to examine her hair.
“I need a more face-framing style - I’ve got chipmunk cheeks."
She fails to elicit a response but trudges on, as it has become obvious that alco
hol has shortened their attention spans.
The three stop and strike up a conversation with a homeless man near the
Rathskeller. They fumble for some change but soon lose interest in this conversation,
too.
2:37 a.m.
Steam fills the alley behind Spanky’s
Restaurant, and brown water runs in
rivulets down the sidewalk.
A tall man (right) stands behind a gold
Chrysler van, pressure hose in gloved
hand, spraying the vents from the restau
rant’s kitchen exhaust system - just
another duty before he can head home
for the night
4:12 a.m.
Time lingers in limbo between
night and day, unmarked by the reg
ularity of passing P2P buses.
Silence hangs over Chapel Hill.
Stragglers from noisy nightlife
scenes pace the brick walkways
beneath dim streetlights.
A crying girl with garish pink lip
stick trips by with a ringing of high
heels.
A posse of stumbling fraternity
members in khakis laugh overly loud
at indistinguishable jokes.
A couple with matching Goth clothes and spiked chokers and
patches sewn on in strange places walk by, absorbed in each other.
l&flR
4:32 a.m.
Three girls, blondes in almost matching outfits, sit waiting on the curb out
side the dark windows of Chase Hall
They stare silently from beneath glitter-smeared eyelids at their black shoes
upon the cracked asphalt with the patience of the extremely tired and worn.
“What time is it?” asks one in a listless voice.
“I don’t know. What time does the P2P stop running?”
No reply.
6:15 a.m.
It’s dark at the crossroads of Manning and Bowles drives, the center of the South
Campus universe. If there was life here last night, it’s impossible to tell now.
A few cars trickle through the intersection, sounding cold and tired as they rattle to
a stop and lurch across the lines. There are enough of them that their memory does
n’t fade from the asphalt, but there are long stretches of time where there is nothing.
No frosted-over sports cars or icy SUVs, not even people on the streets to see them, just
puffs of steam pouring out of the manholes.
It’s soulless on South Campus.
The thousands of sleeping students all around have left no trace of themselves. Not
a beer can pushed by the bitter wind like a New Age tumbleweed, not even a discard
ed flier. The four industrial residence hall towers loom large over the icy quiet scene.
The Smith Center is a sleeping giant at the bottom of the hill, the trappings of its vic
tory the previous evening wiped away. A white stillness rules now, not the Tar Heel bas
ketball team, not a line of cars or a throng of fans.
stoplight turns green, the direction of the invisible traffic changes. The
yi to glow, its edges springing to life.
It’ajjPe omSouth Campus.
jSoa.m.
cold wind and the desire for a
Biter P ic k-me-up have inspired quite a
line f° r coffee downstairs at the Ram Cafe,
M&Biying the nearby Mainstreet Lenoir breakfast
. like a ghost town.
Bkfa “It’s a little dead today, but I don’t know why,"
V one Lenoir worker from behind her lonely
♦vMPti ■-- sash register.
Just moments before the Bell Tower sounds
k , nB chimes nine times, scarf-clad sophomore Wendy
Love power-walks to class. “I’m late to class," Love
B ir said. “But I still have to get coffee.”
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10:37 a.m.
There is not much of a view. And according to the sign print
ed on the door, the place isn’t even open yet.
But this doesn’t stop students from visiting the gallery in the
Student Union (above) to vegetate after an early morning, prep
for work to come or just snatch a nap.
On a long, red couch a brown-haired woman tries to sneak in
one of those naps. Her mouth is slightly open so passers-by can
see the whites of her teeth. Her head rests on a balled-up pur
ple sweater, her folded arms, a thin coat and a book bag.
She wakes only to check the time on her watch.
Noon
In the Pit, one has to look hard to find remnants of yesterday’s ice. Out
came the sun and dried up most of it
So today, the Pit is alive.
Everyone walks through with something in hand and something on
mind. A flier, a Chick-Fil-A bag or a cell phone - an exam, a friend or a
nap.
Click, click, click...
A short female student walks through the Pit. Her black boots peek
ing out from under her dark blue jeans make a distinct noise with every
step on the brick, bringing her closer to her destination. The look on her
eyes says the only thing on her mind is where she needs to be.
Chatter, chatter, chatter ...
All conversations merge into a giant ball of noise. All in unison, all
muddled together with the sound of saws from the nearby construction.
There is so much to talk about: classes, lunch plans, the weather.
Chime, chime, chime...
The Bell Tower tolls 12 times. Hundreds of students congregate for lunch
dates in Lenoir Dining Hall. Hundreds crisscross through the crowds to con
tinue on their busy Fridays at UNC.
Hundreds of individual paths converge - only for a moment
Compiled by Jennifer Bailey, Brad Broders, Jermaine Caldwell, Diana Cunningham, Ben Gulled,
Jennifer Hagin, Ann Hau, Adam D. Hill, Harmony Johnson, Tim Lawson, Rob Leichner, Brian
Millikin, Kacy Nelson, Rachel Nyden, Allison Rost, Geoff Weasel, Amanda Wilson
Photographs by Kim Craven, Laura Giovanelli, Sefton I pock, Mike Messier, Christine Nguyen,
Ariel Schumaker
Design by Beth Buchholz Graphics by Lauren Daughtry
For a multimedia presentation, go online to www.iaUjUtrhetl.em
Friday, March 2, 2001
8:01 a.m.
gt Students sit in silence, only partially
HRvake, as the instructor enters her third
flflpr social psychology class in Davie Hall.
JPyio and welcome to Friday,” the
brunette says after adjusting the podium
BBhng on top of the desk, cup in hand.
She outlines the basic topic of her lec
tdMtt promptly begins talking about
atromes using her chalk-drawn diagram.
311 open window the cold
■ndflH§ air enters, rattling the blinds
outside the birds sing and the frozen
MnMHHbedes a squirrel’s daily tasks.
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