[March 15th, early afternoon]

[poeticprivilege]

Sitting in the British Literature classroom was a man who could have been mistaken for a student. Though he was sitting at the teacher's desk, he had his sneakered feet propped up on it, crossed at the ankles as he boredly sifting through a stack of papers. His dark gray pants were baggy, and covered in zippers and pockets, and he wore a white t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, an assortment of vividly colored paint streaks covering it. Occasionally, he'd reach up to run a hand through the strands of dark brown hair that fell over the side of his face, brushing them behind his ear, or look up from the papers as people passed by in the halls.

Faces are made at anyone who dares to stop and peek in.

Comments

[smallgayjew]

David smiled at his answer. "Good. Then...it'll be fun to read, yeah? If you enjoy it."

[poeticprivilege]

"Sweety, I don't think I'm a good judge when it comes to books," he snorted, laughing a little bit to himself. "I read Twilight and I liked it. Granted, it's full of holes and full of unfortunate implications, but if you're willing to suspend belief and just read it, it's not that bad."

[smallgayjew]

David shrugged, smiling. "It's not about the quality of the text. It's about the passion of the teacher. Silliness has its place."