The sound of my click has a piercing note in the morning which jars me awake. I stumble to the gym while it’s still night out.
The vast lecture halls have blank walls and are as soulless as the sheets of paper I work from, slowly filling them with graphite mistakes.
Lunch isn’t a reprieve, as to the microwave at Albert’s sits broken and lifeless. Well, shit. I guess I’ll have to each my lunch cold, as I don’t have money to but food with.
On my walk home I blast Jimi Hendrix, Izabella shrieking through the pounding drums. A welcome escape from the world, as I can hear myself think again.