Hey this looks familiar!

Hello readers! just wanted to try something new and after a night filled with 3 am motivation I present this to you!

Really hope you will enjoy it!

One last thing, there is a pole in the end! I would really appreciate your sincere opinion! that's it you can reed now ;)

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This sucks, but I have to do it, I guess — or at the very least, I feel obligated to. I wake up still in my clothes from yesterday. I reek of vomit, but I can't really be bothered with changing. This leather jacket has been through a lot with me, but college is giving it a good thrashing. Anyways, I sit on my bed, look at my cracked iPhone 4S, and see that I've missed most of the lectures I had today. Like I was going to pay attention anyway. But hey, my mom did pay a shit ton of money to get me in here. Well, I'll pay her back someday, when I get famous and all that.

As I drag my ass out of bed with a disgusting crunch, I sigh and kick the beer can — or, to put it better, the SEA of beer cans I have in my dorm. I dig out my backpack, which is filled with a whole lot of nothing. Oh wait, I think I actually put a little disappointment and deception in there. Now it actually seems quite hefty.

As the double doors of the classroom swing open when I show up at the end of the last lecture, Mr. Thompson looks at me with that distinct expression. It's like a piercing look of intense disappointment and sadness. I knew he had that in him. He actually mumbled something under his breath. I think it was something along the lines of, "What happened?" Yeah, I think that too sometimes.

In my infinite boredom, I find my eyes wandering around the class, looking at all the faces I had grown to hate. All except one — one I'm pretty sure hates me deep inside: Elaine Williams. Oh God, she is beautiful. To start, she's short. I like that. She's also Japanese — actually, half Japanese. God damn, they do it for me every time. And that purple hair that sways gently in the air-conditioned classroom, those sweaters she always wears, those baggy ripped jeans, and the Vans covered in doodles. And on top of all that, she also plays the guitar. I know it's cliché, but I like her.

Then I realize that Thompson's dickhead ass asked me a question, and I just stared at Elaine for a solid twenty seconds. Then everybody laughed. Nothing unusual. I just pulled my beanie over my eyes and slumped back in my chair. Then that absolute bastard asked me something along the lines of, "How many missed assignments have you collected?" and I responded by stating the obvious: "Just as many as the dicks your ex-wife sat on!" WAY too loud.

I'm now outside the building. Unsurprisingly, he found the joke somewhat inappropriate. That's fine. I didn't want to be there anyway. I just grabbed my old skateboard and left. Now I'm peacefully riding around town, sorta bored, when I decide to pay a visit to a friend.

As the sliding door of the McDonald's opens, a familiar voice calls out to me from behind the register.

"Miguel, my boy!"

I interject with a quaint and elegant "sup" as he daps me up.

Miguel: How have you been?

Ricky: It's been like a day, man.

Miguel: I know!

Ricky: (sigh) It's been fine, man.

Miguel: How's the girlfriend?

Ricky: I wish.

Miguel: Awww, c'mon, you haven't pulled her yet?

Ricky: You fuckin' kidding me?

Miguel: Well, I'm sure you'll get her someday, mijo!

Ricky: (turning around to leave) You know what they say!

Miguel: Hope is free!

As the sliding door closes behind me, I sigh, smack my lips, and get back on my skateboard. It's already 4 PM, which means the last class ended and all the dorks are heading out to live their miserable, education-filled lives. And just to top off my luck, guess who I accidentally rammed into with my skateboard?

Ricky: OH CRAP, I am sooo sorry!

Elaine: Oh, it's nothing to worry about.

Ricky: No, really, I'm really sorry. Here, let me help you.

Elaine: No thanks, that really isn't necessary.

I proceed to help her anyway, as my infinite kindness can't be stopped. As I'm lifting the books off the ground, I also take a peek at one. It's a sketchpad — a small one that says KEEP OUT in a big font, with little doodles of some characters on the front. I wanted to take a closer look, but—

Elaine: Don't touch that, please.

The way she said that startled me for some reason. She didn't say it with any urgency, or anger, or, in fact, any emotion at all.

Ricky: Uh, sure. Sorry. A-again.

Elaine: Cool stunt you pulled off at the party last night.

Now THAT actually set off some alarms in my head, largely because I had no recollection of even GOING to that party. I sure as hell didn't get invited. Then my memory was conveniently refreshed when she showed me a video on her phone of me trying to do a backflip off a barstool and falling flat on my face.

As soon as she pressed pause, two things ran through my mind. One: that explains why my head hurts so much. And two: OH MY GOD, I FUMBLED THE ONLY GIRL ON THIS CAMPUS THAT DIDN'T HATE ME.

Elaine: It was actually kinda sick.

Ricky: What?

Elaine: You really need some balls of steel to do that in front of everybody.

Ricky: (stunned) U-uh, thanks, I guess?

Elaine: (pats me on the back) You're gonna be at the bar tonight, I reckon?

Ricky: Uhh, I mean... yeah? (a slight smile creeps onto my face) Will I be seeing you?

Elaine: Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows?

She finished putting the final book in her backpack, grabbed it, and walked away. Jesus Christ, I love that girl. She just left me standing on an empty campus with a heart beating out of my chest and a mind racing with no coherent thoughts.

Soooo, do I have any clean clothes? That's the question I find myself asking while standing in the middle of my dorm. "No" is the real answer, but I at least wanted to pretend. I ended up putting on my roommate's polo and some cargo pants that I presume are mine, judging by the mild beer stains. But it was good enough. She probably wouldn't even be able to tell anyway. The most important part is deciding how much I need to pregame. After all, after last night, I don't really have the thickest wallet.