CALLUM “Okay, Levi has really stepped up his jungle juice game,” Nessa comments, plucking a cherry from her red plastic cup and bringing it to her lips. She sinks her teeth into the fruit, tugging off the stem and smiling in satisfaction as she chews. If by ‘stepping it up’ she means adding actual fruit to the concoction as a garnish, then sure. Though Levi’s jungle juice recipe is still basically jet fuel disguised as fruit punch. Tastes great, but has a nasty kick that you don’t feel sneaking up on you until it’s too late. Still, the people here can’t seem to get enough of the stuff. I sling an arm over Nessa’s shoulders and lean back on the sofa, taking in the familiar scene at the packhouse tonight: a bar set up in one corner, large speakers in the other, and a sea of bodies crowded in between. The flow of liquor is seemingly endless and the pungent aroma of marijuana smoke lingers in the air. Girls are dancing throughout the room while guys vie for their attention, but I’ve onl