On Laura Halter’s essay. Globs of white cream suddenly soak the pages of her typed term paper and the professor shrieks. This is not good. Not good ...t all. He has to grade that and return it to her! He picks it up with a glimmer of optimism, but sadly his load has soaked through the pages and lost some of the words – diminishing all hope of him cleverly retyping it on new paper. The professor is screwed. He let himself get carried away with feelings and do the most forbidden thing a teacher can. Like this room knew what I was feeling and wanted me to feel okay. It was a pretty cozy dorm, small but not suffocating. A single bed, a desk, and a few bookshelves where all that accented the space. There was something about it though...this inviting feeling, a vibe I couldn't quite describe. I immediately felt comfortable when I first stepped into the room.Trying to push my anxious thoughts out of my mind, I grabbed my bag of toiletries, took off my shirt & headed to the bathrooms.. More

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