That Kid Every Professor Secretly Wants To Strangle

Slouched in his front-row seat, he assumes a coolly relaxed position as his beady eyes peer with feigned attention through two crooked panes of glass. He lounges with one arm crossed across his chest and the other propped up by the first so that his hand reaches to support his pimple-ridden chin. He sports his daily uniform: an extra-large Stairway to Heaven t-shirt drapes his awkwardly gaunt frame and faded Levi's. Wait, he speaks. In his first proclamation of the day, he sagaciously observes that our professor of differential equations has forgotten to carry over a meaningless constant term from the previous line (never mind that the term was to cancel out anyway). He has barely finished settling into a self-congratulatory stupor when again his astute mind strikes again with yet another useless correction. He deserves to be stabbed in the face.




bizarre sunset in Strasbourg