Drive:You quickly start your car and peel off without giving the oil a chance to circulate through the engine, and curse what you know is about to happen. Yup. The lot's full, and someone's out giggling and writing tickets. You trail behind a student walking to their car and throw your blinker on. They toss some books in the back, glance sideways at you, smirk, and run back to the building. So, you toss all your hopes for parking at the last student walking to a car. Unfortunately, so does everyone else. You and an olive-green bomb battle it out while everyone else double parks or slips into the faculty lot. Your wheezing Chevette is no match for that Plymouth Valiant, so you lose. You slip into the faculty lot and pray that please, puh-leeeese, no tickets just this once! You grasp the diseased doorknob with sweaty fingers and heave open the fake oak door only to be greeted by an icy glare. So much for those 'class participation' points. Your body slips into ketosis and begins feeding off of fat stores. "Good," you think, if you're female. "I'm hungry," you think, if you're not. All you can think about is the next opportunity to sleep. Finally, class is over. You speed home and fling your broken body gratefully into bed. Since you're sleeping, there's really nothing else to write about. The end. Return to the story |
|
|
