History of Facebook's Creation

OCTOBER 2003 Apparently, it was the third cocktail that gave the effect. Eduardo was not completely sure of this: the pauses between all three were so short that there was not the slightest chance of calculating when the change occurred. The empty cups he quickly stacked one into the other behind him on the windowsill. So, there was no doubt that the change had taken place - Eduardo's usually pale cheeks were painted with a warm blush. The ease, downright gracefulness with which our hero leaned against the window had nothing to do with his eternal stooped fossil, and most importantly, a smile began to play on his face, which he never managed to achieve after two hours of training in front of a mirror in his room. Yes, the alcohol worked, and Eduardo was no longer afraid. In any case, he was not so keenly pursued by the habitual desire to get out of here to a vigorous hairdryer. However, anyone in this room would be intimidated: a colossal crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, like in a cathedral; the walls of the regal mahogany seemed to be bleeding with a lush red carpet; the staircase, dividing in two, led in serpentine twists to the fabulous, hidden, reserved upper floors. It seemed that a trick could be expected even from the window behind Eduardo's back - it lit up outside with the fierce prominences of a fire that occupied almost the entire tight space of the courtyard and reached out with tongues of flame to the ancient glass in ancient spots. The place was awe-inspiring, and even more so for a guy like Eduardo. Not that he grew up in poverty - most of his life before Harvard was spent in respectable neighborhoods in Brazil and Miami. But Eduardo did not have to deal with the ancient luxury that this hall embodied. Despite the booze, deep down in his heart, he was again overcome by anxiety. He felt like a newcomer again, stepping into the courtyard of the Harvard campus for the first time, wondering how he got here and what he was doing here anyway. What the hell is he doing here?! Eduardo moved slightly along the windowsill, studying the crowd of young people that filled the cavernous hall. People were mostly swirling around two makeshift bar counters. The racks were rather shabby - shabby wooden tables that did not fit in in any way with the strictly seasoned interior - but no one paid attention to this, since there were girls behind them: everything seemed to be a selection of luxurious full-breasted blondes in tops with a bold cut. The beauties were invited from nearby women's colleges to serve promising young people. The crowd of students was, in a sense, even more frightening than the room in which it had gathered. Eduardo estimated that there were two hundred of them - men in blazers and wide dark trousers. Most are sophomores; faces of all races, but they all smiled much more naturally than Eduardo. And besides, calm confidence was reflected in the gaze of two hundred pairs of eyes. These guys did not need to assert themselves. They knew what they were doing here. For most, this evening and this place is nothing more than part of the routine. Eduardo took a deep breath. The air was bitter. It was through the gaps between the panes and the frame that the soot of the fire was making its way outside. But our hero still did not leave the window - it is too early; he is not ready yet. He began to study the company closest to him: four guys of average height. He didn't seem to have met any of them in class. The two blondes looked like they had just come from a private school somewhere in Connecticut. The third, Asian, seems to be older, but these have an age - go and determine. But the fourth - black, with a shining gloss on his face, a snow-white smile and impeccable hairstyle - this is clearly a senior.