Wednesday, January 28, 2009
A particular man climbs down the stairs of an awkward lecture hall sandwiched in the corner of two riot-proof walls, concrete and cold. He brushes off a chair in the front of the room only to rest his jacket upon it. Hair sprouts out of a three inch area of skin, leaving me to wonder what he is hiding under the perpetual hand it makes over his mouth, as he scribbles "If 2+2=5, then God exists" on the once black, now gray, blackboard. A philosophy class is like a strange world full of big, bushy mustaches.