Observations

Brisk. Chilly. Not yet colorful. September at Malone. The sun falls on the pathways between brick buildings. At seven thirtsy, you watch every footstep, careful not to trip in your own sleep-drunken stupor. You inhale the scent of grass, cafeteria food, and cologne as you pass the mens' dorm. A waft of toasty air greets you as you reach your destination- along with fresh-smelling grey walls. Your class room is emtpy for a few minutes until you are joied by guys in sweats and girls carrying coffee, still checking their makeup. No body likes a class anytime before nine. You look at the boy beside you. He appears to be more awake. His eyes are in the shadow of his shaggy dark hair, but you can tell they are beautiful. His jeans stretch tight across his knees, as comfortable and familiar as his old Etnies. Not short. Not tall. Not skinny, or fat. He's just an average boy. Not deep, not high, not simple, or sly. Just an average voice.

An etenrity passes, as you nod off, shivering. Finally, you can leave.

And go back to your room and sleep some more.