I don't know which is more
comforting: the warm, soapy water in the sink, soaking my hands - or the drone of the never-dying
flourescents which illuminate the second story bathrooms.
The hallway is dark, this is my space now.
It's quiet, even for a geek school, even for a saturday night. A glance back down the eternal one way street reveals generations of young men looking in these mirrors, afraid of their yet unknown daemons and scarily obvious fates.
Longing gazes are heavy, they must have left something in the mirror -
For I see the same thing now, leaving behind this craft in favor of linear algebra, binary logic and other such nonesense. Submitting to the flourescent humm, I return to my automated scrubbing.