I suppose walking through these halls I’m not shocked by their emptiness. I follow the outstretched corridors, peering in through meshed security-glass to vacant spaces void of their usual hustle-bustle, noting florescent tubes aglow for no one in particular.
The odd grad-student ambles to the tune of impending deadlines, but the tone is to the drawl of overcast skies and grey, half-melted snow. Lethargic ether hangs over the campus, imposing the need for excessive caffeine and cigarettes.
I suppose a saunter to the Commons will solve the former, but the sign on the door says “Closed past three” and I’m running low on the latter. It’s not long until this languidness dissipates, but like the tension of an expanding balloon, soon enough this stasis will burst into a frenzied final ascent.
Procrastinating has got us this far; let’s see if the last quarter will play the same.
