Looking down at a sign of movement, a cigarette butt rolling steadfastly uphill, driven by a barely-there breeze. Walking toward, by, past the raucous cloud of noise in a nearby quad, two students lying on the lawn outside the door in spite of the 20-odd degree weather because of the joints(?) in their hands (as not to smoke up the party inside? or maybe their judgment’s a little woozy), head down against the cold but when a gentle sting kisses my face I look up to be greeted by the beginnings of a snowfall framing my building.

Welcome home.

—

…I should be in class now. But it’s snowing hard. And I am really not enthusiastic about this attending class bit when my instructors are so shoddy.