Fall semester, time to get your ass back to school. One of your classes this semester is "Workshop in Poetry." Or as you're gonna call it, "Free Period." You've taken enough creative writing classes in your life to know, whether it's college, high school, grade school, creative writing is all the same. It's writing. It doesn't have to be good writing. You just need to put in enough effort. Yep, you look forward to blending in with the books toward the back of the class, catching up on Pokémon Emerald. Fuck it, you might even skip a few a few classes. Or at least come in a little late. Start the day right by getting in that morning fap. Or hit up The Vestibule while the mods are asleep, to see if there are any boobs threads.
You show up to class. Looks small. As students fill the room, you keep an eye open for any scene hoes to exchange Myspaces with. When in walks your teacher. A woman in her early 60s, looks like. Oh no. You've heard of her. Professor Giovanni. The big dick on campus when it comes to creative arts. Foremother of the Black Arts Movement, outspoken feminist, around 50 accolades to her name, poems are serious business to her. She's gonna need 110% from everyone, you can feel it. So plan your skip days wisely. Desperately you try for a seat in the back of the class anyway, as the last few students settle in. You keep a hand hovered over your already-on DS, hidden between the folds of your binder, waiting for a moment of security to save your game and then switch it off. When you hear the professor call out "Excuse me, sir?"
Your hand jerks. Wait, she wasn't talking to you. She was talking to the other guy. Sitting away from everyone else, a tall, gangrel kid hiding his face behind hat brim and sunglasses. "Take off the hat, please." He doesn't take off the hat. He doesn't even say "No I don't want to take off my hat." He is silent. Is he asleep? No, he just got here. Is he drunk? You don't smell anything. Does he speak English? You notice a tanness to his skin. He's some kinda Asian. Maybe he doesn't speak English. But the other students seem to be put off by him. Some are averting their eyes from this "confrontation." Should you? He is at once unnoticeable, and unavoidable.
"Are you gonna listen to me?" He still doesn't respond. The year is 2005. Also you're enrolled at Virginia Tech. What do?
You show up to class. Looks small. As students fill the room, you keep an eye open for any scene hoes to exchange Myspaces with. When in walks your teacher. A woman in her early 60s, looks like. Oh no. You've heard of her. Professor Giovanni. The big dick on campus when it comes to creative arts. Foremother of the Black Arts Movement, outspoken feminist, around 50 accolades to her name, poems are serious business to her. She's gonna need 110% from everyone, you can feel it. So plan your skip days wisely. Desperately you try for a seat in the back of the class anyway, as the last few students settle in. You keep a hand hovered over your already-on DS, hidden between the folds of your binder, waiting for a moment of security to save your game and then switch it off. When you hear the professor call out "Excuse me, sir?"
Your hand jerks. Wait, she wasn't talking to you. She was talking to the other guy. Sitting away from everyone else, a tall, gangrel kid hiding his face behind hat brim and sunglasses. "Take off the hat, please." He doesn't take off the hat. He doesn't even say "No I don't want to take off my hat." He is silent. Is he asleep? No, he just got here. Is he drunk? You don't smell anything. Does he speak English? You notice a tanness to his skin. He's some kinda Asian. Maybe he doesn't speak English. But the other students seem to be put off by him. Some are averting their eyes from this "confrontation." Should you? He is at once unnoticeable, and unavoidable.
"Are you gonna listen to me?" He still doesn't respond. The year is 2005. Also you're enrolled at Virginia Tech. What do?
