I needed to take a test. It was for a stupid filler class, some kind of dissection of the modern soap opera. You know, one of those bullshit classes that schools offer now. The classroom was on the top floor of the school, which was insanely tall, with no elevators. I was walking there with a cute, nerdy, girl who I apparently knew since she was talking to me. The room looked more like an apartment that a classroom, so I guess the school didn’t take the course very seriously either. By the time we got there I was a filthy mess of wheezing and sweat. So I wandered into a nearby teacher’s lounge to try and clean up. As I was just about done a professor came in. He was clearly drunk, but it was that “I can see clearly the mistakes of my life” kind. He started telling me about this kid he’d taught. Brian Farley was his name. It was the anniversary of his death and the guy somehow felt responsible for it. I sat there, in my moist pants, listening to the sad tale of Brian Farley, trying to think of how to escape. At the same time I didn’t really look forward to suffering through the test either. I figured I could get the girl to help me since the test room was completely unsupervised. I woke up just as the girl had shown up to figure out what was keeping me so long. Wild huh?
Anyway, how’s the birthday week going? Are you honoring me in a way that I’d be proud of?