LifeHe carries himself with an air of indifference, like all guys are supposed to do. He marchesnonchalantly toward the parking garage taking in what he can through his filtered world. The amber tint of his sunglasses and the blaring rock music from his headphones dull his senses. He attempts towalk through a busy street where he can't hear and can barely see, not that he tried to correct this problem. As he continues his journey to his car he spots an attractive girl coming in the oppositedirection. “Eyes forward, act like it's not a big deal,” he rehearses in his mind. His eyes betray him and begin to take in as much of the girl as they can. He tries to remember if his sunglasses are mirrored.His apartment is a short drive from campus that never goes through the more interesting parts of the little college town he lives in. Traffic is always bad here. Unlocking the apartment door he isgreeted by the site of a large Korean sprawled out on the living room couch feasting upon a bowl of pork. It is his roommate Bill, who had no problems adjusting to life away from home.“Hey asshole,” his friend throws out.“Sup faggot?” he fires back as he continues to his room. He asks himself again why he's friendswith Bill.“Dude, take out the fucking trash or it all ends up in your room tonight!” he hears Bill shoutfrom the living room while he goes into his room to change for work. He thinks back to middle schoolwhen Bill used to be the quiet kid. Those days are long gone.“Whatever dick, what's it like being married to your right hand?” he fires back in retort as hechanges to get ready for work. It was all rehearsed since this kind of banter took place everyday.“Hey... not cool dude. Where you goin'?”“I have work... Jesus Christ mom don't worry about it.” He hears Bill yell something as he shuts1

the door and bounds back down the steps and out toward his car.He speeds in that impatient way that only someone under thirty can. He doesn't have time to bewasting his youth taking forever to get places. It's bad enough that he already feels like he's wasted somuch. He almost starts into deep contemplation of his life summarizing all of his failures into one neat package. The highway is really no place for such thoughts so he decides it would be better to just enjoywhat he can of the ride.His windows are down to let the warm Spring weather, that finally decides to show up around 2in the afternoon, rush into his car. Rap music blares from the speakers, since that's what you have tolisten to look cool. He checks his side mirror as he prepares to pass another car. The mirror itself violently shakes from bass coming out of the door making his journey just slightly more dangerous. Hesmiles a little and wishes there was someone in the care to be impressed by this.Sometimes when he drives he pretends he'll skip his exit and keep driving. He'll go wherever the highway will allow him to visit. He would go west, maybe see New Orleans, what's left of it, atMadras Gras. Maybe he'll drive all the way to California. Or maybe, he'll go to the airport and buy aone-way ticket to Europe and backpack across the countryside. He would have an adventure that hecould brag about for the rest of his life. He pulls off at his exit.He genuinely dislikes his job. It’s boring and mundane and he is completely convinced he’sunderpaid. He works at a fast food place, the same one for almost two years now, and he can’tremember why. A girlish scream escapes from the kitchen just as he enters the front door. Well, thereare some reasons he still works here.He quickly walks to the back already convinced of what just happened. He pushes pastcustomers and he puts his work hat on, hoping that it will justify his rudeness. Sliding his way past theregisters, one of the cashiers makes a passing greeting toward him. She’s not one of the one’s that hereally wants to get in the pants of so he ignores her, more important things were at stake now. If this2

were a fairy tale there would be damsel of some sort to rescue. If this were Hollywood there would be acute girl there for him to help. They could then start an awkwardly cute relationship and embark upon aromantic comedy. This was real life, which is always the strangest possibility.“’Eh man, what’s going on!” the figure shouted from the floor. This was no damsel in distress.This was in fact a three hundred pound black man. This was Wallace. In Wallace’s case black is usedrather lightly. He talked black, but his taste in music and girls said otherwise. Man can probably beused lightly too; Wallace has a bit of a baby face and a goofy smile that combined make you want tosmile just looking at him.“Not much dude, what’d you do now?”“Ah you know, buhhshit. Give me a hand.”“Yeah,” he grabs Wallace’s hand to try and help him off of the ground. It’s more of a politeformality since he can barely lift that much weight.“You comin’ to my party tomorrow night, right?”“Yeah of course. I don’t think I’ll be able to get anything so you best get enough beer,” hecommands to the figure three times his size.“Aight, but you better pay. No more of this moochin’ shit. Now look out, I gotsa get some juice!” He watches as Wallace shuffles his way out of the kitchen toward the soda machine.He gets back in his car around 9:30. He's already had a long day, but there was still a little moreto do.“Now I just gotta get back to the apartment and write that paper.”

Just

, he chuckles at his ownrational. Just turn out a five pager in an hour. There was no point worrying about it, he couldn't startwriting it in the car. He instead daydreams about the party tomorrow night – epic beer pong games andall the hot girls he'll hook up with because his ability to throw a plastic ball in a plastic cup is just what3