The story so far:
He watched as the last student trickled out. He sucked in a huge amount of air and let it seep out of his pores. Where were all the passionate students he was supposed to be teaching? Where were the students ready for a revolution at the slightest hint of injustice. No. These lifeless drones just came to class, half with their cell phones glued to their faces. The others, yammering on about other meaningless things. It was sad.
He remembered himself when he was their age. Rocking an afro and daishiki, declar ing war on any who refused to listen to the people. He chuckled to himself before he put his feet up on his desk. In his classrrom.
What he loved about his classroom was that he had artisitc freedom. It was littered with italicized quotes from his favorite authors.... Shakespeare, Frost, Dr. Suess. He wasn't so educated that he could not appreciate the lesson in Horton Hears a Who. He had artwork scattered along the walls underneath many of those quotes. There were pieces of art about the room, all enveloping himself in a circle. He loved it. Once the last irritating student left for the day, he was able to relax and enjoy his circle. Besides, his classroom was so far away from the others that no one, other than students who had to take his course, bothered to make the trip over.
He leaned back in his chair, feet plopped up on his desk. He happened to glance at the door and he saw her. Honey. He jumped so hard forward that the chair propelled him forward and he was eating carpet by the time she had completely passed his door. 'Smooth move lover boy,' he mumbled to himself. He quickly regained his composure and staggered to the door. He caught her hair turning the corner. Where was she going? He panicked. Then he remembered. Johnson's classroom was next to his. He raced to the double sided mirror in the back of his clasroom. He had found favor with someone.... someone that would bless him with such an arrangement.