Spring quarter often brings long days and late nights holed up with leftovers and hot water in homes outside home, at the tip of a mundane hill.
Many nights–ones that contain spending upwards of seven hours in a glorified closet on the farthest outskirts of campus–send me clattering down the hill on a rental bike in avoidance of a midnight walk under broken street lamps, fluorescent metal frame creaking on cement and cobblestone. The new building’s lights are still on, flooding the walkway’s outlined squares with butter yellow. Whisk past wooden structures–student center, bookstore, branches squealing in protest of slight wind. This courtyard’s lawn is bigger than students left it this morning. Cross a lake–no, puddle–and startle at an awoken sprinkler. Continue reading