ACCOMPANYING GREAT INFURIATION, fury, embarrassment, and wholly bullshitness along the universities’ snowy pavement, as I dash to get to the Heart Dormitory Building, everyone’s eyes around are sticking on me. Beyond doubt because of my cammed backpack on my right shoulder – which contains my clothes – and the brimful duffer bag, yet securely zipped, on my left hand. I look straightly, avoiding their irking eyes and faces.
Sometimes, while minutes of this morning are hours, I often think about what they are thinking: Is he a new student? Did he leave his dorm room without the supervisor’s notice? Why would he do such a thing? What building does he live? Who is his roommate, and do they hate each other, reasoning him to leave their room?
Questions ass
