Hundreds of questionably aged college students from throughout the greater Southeast have combined themselves into one great mass of thunderous energy inside the top floor of an unassuming building located on East Clayton Street in downtown Athens, Georgia. Classes have already begun for the fall semester, but summer still consumes the air everywhere you go, especially tonight, when the heat of the afternoon didn't dissipate until well after sunset.

There are bodies everywhere. Some are still, save for the occasional reach of their mouths to the ear of a friend. Others are constantly in motion, streaking from the dance floor to the bar to refill their drinks, bouncing up and down to the beat of radio pop, and stomping down on the fragile hardwoods, just hoping they are the ones cool enough to break them. It is somewhat of an urban legend here that the floor is bound to collapse at any moment. People talk about the possibility of the total destruction of a place they love without an inkling of fear. Instead, the mood around the collapse is almost gleeful.

A diverse group of about twenty people attempted to rally another fifty to join them in stomping a specific weak point in the floor to the House of Pain's "Jump Around." About half of those recruited actually joined the jumpers on their mission at first, and the other half came around at the end. While about seventy-five teenagers and twenty-somethings violently exacerbated a neglected hazard in order to purposefully create a potential tragedy, everyone just sat around and watched, without a single care in the world; they continued doing exactly what they were doing before.

A girl in a blue dress prepared to take a photo for Instagram, a guy in a camo hat with a fish hook on the brim yelled at his friend about the Braves game, and a girl in a tank top desperately tried to hear her friend on the phone over the commotion. The floor never collapsed; it was never going to collapse, but some people liked the idea that it could have.