Residence Hall

It is at dusk that they walk, or twilight–when the world is ready to dream–and Mason sees them meander from the double doors to the parking lot. Every space is filled, but cars still drive down the aisles looking for a place until they decide they need a new pair of shoes, baby blue flats that match their spring dresses, then they leave.

Mason waits outside. The building is cold, but the warmth of the summer evening cools his nerves. He grabs the front of his shirt.

Push, pull. Push, pull.

He does this as rapidly as possible to keep the sweating down to a minimum. He won’t go inside. Not yet. It is only a little sweat, not enough to make him stink. Not even enough to show through his shirt.

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