The halls were filled with fish. Some manuevered the labirynth twists of the linoleum halls with skill, using the water's flow to their advantage; they were sure that the ocean was home, and that the river was just a right of passage. Others were like salmon, leaping rocks and struggling against, dodging drama and ditching classes. Still more trod water behind rocks of anonymity, floundered in still pools of acceptance or parental duty. They were fish because they were born fish and accepted that, or because they wanted to be fish. Some were fish because their parents drank and that was normal. Others drank to defy the anonimity of their sober kin; hoping that the cool waters would sooth their throats and bring meaning to their lives. My head was a fish tank floating in the water, looking down through depths, through the glass, into the water, at the fish, at the rocks and undertow.