starbelliedboy

I shoulda posted this yesterday, but there was so much to say and I was a little distracted...

One day back from school and I'm already writing. It's good to be thinking about this stuff again. On the way home on the bus, I wrote this. Not by any means a finished anything, but here it is: The long ride home from the halls of academia is a shuttle with lucite windows scarred with the futile rage of those such as I. Anger toward the verdant fields where the children of the priveleged play, and gray commercial centers where money is spent, earned and stolen. Anger at all of those doors, closed to those who can't afford the price of admission. A trip that ends in cinderblock houses and public lots overgrown with weeds and the broken bottles of reclaimed spirits.

*disclaimer* I am by no means this depressed and disillusioned, I just liked the sound of a few of the phrases and decided to string them together and see what I got. This is what came out and I'm gonna add and see where it takes me.

Edited for unfortunate spelling.