I don’t even like thinking about my own future.

“What’s on your mind?” stared me in the face like a person at a ticket counter that couldn’t be bothered. Except the text didn’t really know I was staring back at it and wouldn’t keep introducing itself — “Hello? Hello?” — Maybe that’s why people liked social media: it demanded so little of them. But then why did they invest so much time in it? Why did I invest so much —

“Seriously, hello?” I looked over my shoulder. A small person stood there with a bag and a clique. “Do you… mind if we use this space? All the other study rooms are full.” They held one strap of their backpack with both hands.

I started to open my mouth but my brain slammed it right back down. Brain, why do you always do this to me? I was perfectly happy not noticing gender specifics.

She stared expectantly at me through thick, rimmed glasses. Brain, if you don’t say anything this is going to get awkward. I felt like a watched pot that was about to boil, and I really didn’t want to. Wait, I knew how to resolve this! I pulled my occasionally trusty coin from my pocket.

“Heads you can have it, tails it’s yours,” I managed to say. She just blinked. She didn’t know the coin like I did. I flipped the coin and it was heads. Or tails. I packed my stuff and ran.

I picked my brain up off the floor. Nothing like a good run to get the juices flowing.

“Hi, are you here to sign our petition?” said the guy behind the table I’d almost run into. He was wearing a nametag that had some semi-official-looking symbol on it. He thrust a clipboard with a petition on it toward me. The clipboard looked embarrassed to be involved.

“What’s in it for me?” I cut to the chase.

“We’re gathering signatures on behalf of the student body to create more study space. Don’t you want more study space?”

“I do now. If I sign, can I use it?”

“Even if the petition is successful it won’t be completed for at least four years.”

“But I won’t be here in four years. And you want me to pay for it?”

“No, future student fee increases are paying for it.” He was looking at me like I was a Rubik’s Cube that was slowly twisting and becoming harder to solve.

“So the future students will own the new study space?” I guess that wasn’t so bad.

“No… The University will own it and lease it back to the students.”

“So you want me to make future students pay for a building they won’t own?”

“They’ll get more study space,” he recited like a telemarketer thrown off script.

“I don’t even like thinking about my own future, why would I think about someone else’s for them?”

I walked away. “They’ll get to use the space…” he trailed off behind me.

Suddenly, my stomach decided I was going to think about my own future regardless of what I liked.