September 17, 2007
I walked to it everyday. The building was in the center of campus, and wasn’t hard to spot. It was the only building connected to another building by way of an enclosed bridge. It was a red-bricked building with three entrances. In front of 2 of the entrances, the doors were usually hidden by a cloud of smoke. The smokers were always surrounding the doors like bees to a hive, even though they were supposed to be 25 feet away from the building, they never were.
Sometimes I was here for class, other times I was just passing through to get to another building, and sometimes I was here to get out of the rain, snow or the hot beating rays of the sun. Either way, the walls of the building were always white. And the noise was overwhelming when you entered in. Between the personal conversations, the classes and the professional conversations, you could barely hear yourself think.
All the international students seemed to use this building more for lounging and eating their ethnic food rather than any other or the cafeteria. The smells of Indian, Italian, Chinese, Japanese and any other food that isn’t quite American is always taking over the first floor. I am sure if you licked the air or the walls; you could taste the food that was being made as clear as if you were eating it.
I raced up the many stairs to the second floor where my class was. Now, these ghost-white walls were consumed with paintings and photographs of
I frantically searched for Room 219. This is where my studies of Writing for the Mass Media were going to be held by Professor Ed Evans. 210, 211, 212, 213… where was 219? Was I looking for the wrong number?
Finally, I arrive at Room 219 in time to get settled into my desk. The room was freezing but that wasn’t different from the rest of the building. The wind blew through the bordering windows, rattling the blinds just enough to annoy me. I settled in- just to realize- the walls were now seaweed green.
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