In the interests of not stirring up a fuss, I'm not mentioning any details about who I am or where I'm from. Like a 16 year old girl on the internet talking to boys about fanfiction, I am someone with no name. I'm eating dinner and looking up at a radio station. Looking down at a fast food joint. (across from me, people are seated at a bar, making empty pseudo conversation about nothing at all)
People walk about me like I'm nothing. they should (misanthropy and anthrophobia are the only ways to live without going mad)
Least, that's how my roommate is living.
He has a distinctive laugh. Very distinctive. Throaty baritone range, reverberating around the concrete block halls like rubber gunfire. Like the distinctive report of a shotgun, it signals his return home. I shoot up to my feet, busy to find something to busy myself with. He stumbles into the room, his numbers strong.
In this moment, I wish I had glasses. I, too, am seated at the bar. Beside me, a group of loudmouths squeal energetically into each others' closed ears. (not fun)
He's surrounded by people. I know two of them, another is new. Sadly, this has been going on for weeks on end. I sit quietly awaiting nightfall or my next class or sleep, and for some reason he's deemed i
t MFing party time in our room. Not even the biggest rooms on campus could make this less invasive.(not our room. ours is bigger.---->)
This font is for storytelling, so I'm telling a story. Get it? Anyway, after they've all left, at least one time, he's complained to me about their presence. He's told me the reason he goes home so often is that he doesn't want to talk to all the new people all the time. Funny, that's the reason I'm so frigid when you bring your mates about. That's the reason I don't like having so many god damn people in the room at all times.
I'm out. Got a party to be at. At least I think I like those people.
It just goes to show; play good music loud enough and everybody clears away from you. Just beautiful mate. Just beautiful. (this is why I need a dedicated stereo system for my room. my itunes keeps fucking out.)
This font is for storytelling, so I'm telling a story. Get it? Anyway, after they've all left, at least one time, he's complained to me about their presence. He's told me the reason he goes home so often is that he doesn't want to talk to all the new people all the time. Funny, that's the reason I'm so frigid when you bring your mates about. That's the reason I don't like having so many god damn people in the room at all times.
I'm out. Got a party to be at. At least I think I like those people.
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