Brought to you this week by Roslyn Thorne
Walking from Roosevelt to Tabler, you notice the lights of a residential neighborhood. You realize you haven’t left campus in four weeks.
When you walk down the trail at night, never check behind you. You see nothing, but once you start doing it, you won’t be able to stop.
You try to print out your paper in Javits, but the printer is broken. A friend advises you to try the printer in the library. You walk to the library, but the printer is broken and the librarian advises you to try the printer in the TAC. You walk to the TAC, but the printer is broken and the secretary advises you to try the printer in Frey Hall. You walk to Frey Hall, but the printer is broken and a grad student advises you to try the printer in Javits. You walk back to Javits and the printer works, but you are late to class.
You know that President Stanley has left the university, but you swear that you just saw him out of the corner of your eye.
Walking through the woods, a streetlight draws you from the path, pulled like a mindless moth. Can you not trust the woods, or can you not trust the lights?
There is a flood at the entrance to your dorm. There has always been a flood at the entrance of your dorm. Your feet are soaking, you can’t remember them being dry.
There is only one RSP in Tabler quad. You see him every day. He never changes pace, and he never changes course. He patrols in the rain. He patrols in the snow. It’s as if he never stops moving.
You begin to pace in your dorm, but quickly realize you can’t make more than three steps in any one direction.
You walk past the teepee and notice a shopping cart in the woods. Attached is a water damaged sign which reads “If one of you mother fuckers steals my stolen shopping cart again you are done”.
The Chatime truck is outside West Side Dining. The Chatime truck is outside Melville Library. The Chatime truck is outside of Roth Quad. The Chatime truck is never in the same place twice, but it is always there when you need it.
The trail is covered in thousands of colored glass shards. They were not there yesterday, but they seem aged, worn down like seaglass.
The new Student Union remains under construction. An email informs you the enforced fifteen meter perimeter has been extended to twenty meters due to “continuing issues with the boiler system”.
You’re sitting under the teepee with some friends. During a lull in the conversation, you hear footsteps coming from the trail. You don’t see a phone or a flashlight.
Walking from Roosevelt to Tabler, you’re met with a rush of wind as someone runs past you in a mad dash. They don’t say anything, but something tells you they aren’t running late.
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