All that can be heard in my apartment is the dull thud of the dryer.
It almost sounds like the slow pumping of a heart.
But what is the heart of an apartment? Surely it’s not the dryer.
Two lines of black clad students march into the great hall. The lines split and march around either side of the waiting audience. They stand silently, the only colour in their outfits the green and yellow scarves that alternate from person to person. A man dressed in a black button up shirt and black dress pants…
I was sitting at the kitchen table with my computer open when my roomate walked through the front door. He looked at me with a slight grin on his face. His eyes were bright and red. He’d been gone since eight this morning, my other roomate had said, and it was now 2:30 a.m.