Day 3: One is the Loneliest Number

The Kinger, myself, and a lovely young man by the name of Seth all have an infamously dull and drawn out British Literature class every Tuesday and Thursday from the hours of 11 am to 12:30 pm. During this time we participate in such menial activities as drawing profane and immature cartoons at one another, guffawing quietly at the dumbed down and irrelevant content of the curriculum, and of course, texting. It ends up being a rather enjoyable social hour (and a half) almost every time.

Today was different.

I myself was bordering on late to class, and hurriedly took a seat next to Seth as I pretended to catch my breath as a friendly sign of "back off, teach. I fucking tried to make it on time, really." When I had my wits about me, I noticed that Kinger was nowhere to be found. It was four minutes past the usual start time, and every seat on either side of Seth and myself was filled. I was bewildered, he had seemed perfectly healthy (and happily asleep) when I left home base that morning.

Within 60 seconds of this thought, Kinger lumbered in, giving Seth and I a look that I had never seen thrown in my direction: utter disdain. He then took a seat at the opposite end of the back row. I reeled for a few minutes, wondering what exactly I could've done to the Kinger to either a: make him late for class, or b: cause him such emotional discomfort that he would resort to glaring.

I got over this sentiment as I watched him intently throughout the class period. Ladies and gentlemen, the Kinger is a social creature. It survives, even thrives in the presence of other, lesser human beings. Alone, however, it has no outlet for its large bodily output of wit and sass, and must search for places within its mind and body to store the secretions. It is the equivalent to having Restless Leg Syndrome in one's brain. Watching Kinger cope with this was a truly heartbreaking experience. I cannot even explain the looks of horror, dejection, lament, desperation, and abject misery I saw on that full, normally joyous visage over the course of the next 90 minutes. If I was pushed to do so, however, I believe he vaguely resembled Pooh Bear attempting thought.

consider my emotional back broken...