I woke up a few nights ago in a room with 3 other guys. We were rooming together. It was for school, so don't get the wrong idea. It was about 3 am and it was the incessant bang of hail against the walls and roof that set off the alarm for me. It wasn't the noise that kept me up though; it was the fear. I'm not afraid of hail, or weather in general (any more) but I am afraid of broken glass falling on my sleeping neck. See, our residence was an odd place. It was a 50 foot pyramid of panels joined invisibly every few meters. Inside the pyramid was a 2nd ceiling, this one running parallel to the ground—also glass. It was very much like the pyramid at the Louvre, had it been designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. I figure it to be roughly a billion kilograms or so of very breakable glass just waiting to be shattered. The three of us watched out the walls as the hail reached cantaloupe size and began to destroy automobiles in the distance. The girls who lived up stairs came down and calmed our nerves with extra alcohol they had stashed for such an occasion. Drunkenness did little but confuse the situation for a few moments before our fear intensified. Glass began to explode, faces began to bleed, and it was all over. I was done, with this place, with this class, with the dangers, and ventured outside to find a more suitable experience. None such experience was to be found. I tried to take in a musical, but couldn't get a ticket. I tried to rent a hotel room, but forgot my wallet. I tried to return home but there was no home to return to…
