is it fiction if one person has seen this already . . .

and in year two of uni all of the first year grads tried to formulate some art project—it being a requirement to pass the engineering ma—alter ego onto social media—most of the jet black haired, jimmy called baby boys and the tight-pony-tailed brunettes in opaque tights and pencil skirts, were born around the time the craigslist guy would lose his job and start thinking what do do next—and each of them (hoping to be listed on wiki’s silicon valley success page) at 2 am with a five hour energy, in the flavor berry delicious, would write a missed connection, under the personals section, that belonged to their drunken texted ex-lovers and not to their right brained imaginative rainbow thoughts.

only so these type a majors could continue a conversation with themselves and surprise the literature teacher, who stuck with 40 or so of these print outs each year, was used to expository essays not a character over 650 words of analysis but pages of nonsensical creative writing seminars that yielded gays in tow with slick boots and skin tight jeans—and females paired with crocheted sweaters and skirts that hit below the shin, and shirts bought off etsy for forty dollars repeating a jenny holzer line next to a screenshot of some over-referenced netflix show.

he complained to his ancient and modern greek mythology professor partner (who preferred the title phd in classics) that honey, my students do not take advantage of creative opportunity, his partner filed the bills in color code while jim filing his nails down to a shiny dull point played out a navy sweater and gray slacks, and tucked in his dog named after every puppy ever named in french film.

 jim's partner proceeded to pull up the white comforter past his shoulders and over a jims head, recently shaved, and only 5 feet and 7 inches, which for most is average.

jim couldn’t recall that next year sarah mcgreggor—always teased about her surname belonging to that of a celtic domestic animal, sometimes a lamb or shepherd’s laddie—would come up to (him) which to jim’s partner is (baby bear—jim would grow a beard and beer belly from his depressing summer) and say i posted it in boston, proclaiming her choice of using the opposite coast a secret between the two of them.

to which jim met her with a wilted smile, to which the san francisco sun was saying goodbye to the universities english departments windows—on the third floor of the technical builiding—to which jim, with hairy glue smelling fingers from trying hastily to embrace creativity in room decorations, patted sarah with the, what a great idea stock response, and to which jim decided he would make tuna fish for dinner; reduce, reuse, recycle.

the donut piece will be posted at a much much much later date because I'm greedy and am using it for an application,
cb

(got to get into that transfer school am I right?)