School Makes Me Drool:

I sleep in math class. Math is obvious, literally, its all questions about what happens when you do something to a set system. If you just learn the rules you can do any of it; or in my case anything in the class. I go high sometimes, often I nap. I don't even care if I render my notebook a veritable spittoon. The teach doesn't care either, he respects that I know my math.

English is next. I drool in that class for a more sensational reason. There, the instigation is visible (even YOU could see it), its almost palpable, its the sensational bosom and booty of Mrs. Crank. She is hot stuff. Seriously, five peppers hot. If she were salsa, you would burn your mouth. But shes not, so who doesn't want a bite! She keeps talking about Ahab, but all I want to say is, "Moby-My-Dick please!" However, my apprehensions have outrun reality; she has not reacted to my seductions and lustations.

My daily drool of disappointment is always mitigated by the luncheon break that immediately follows Crank's class. I nearly always follow this routine: walk south down School Street three blocks, turn left onto British Street, light the joint I rolled in the morning, share it with whichever cronies are in train, arrive at British Street Deli, order either chx parm or pastrami, eat, and head back to school.

The rest of the day either sucks or doesn't, either way I'm high as shit--like right now. Fuck.

I hear someone downstairs:
-Knock Knock
* CRASH

Shit I think someone just broke in. I'm taking my stash, 5 inch knife, and emergency back pack, out the fire escape. Update to come. Sorry for the disjointed post, fix later...