The police took Shaggy's drugs

Going to a commuter college, is not like going to college at all. It is like having a part time job. You never really feel like you are part of the organization. Georgia State University is a far fetch from the idealistic and forever autumnal campuses of New England. The building in which I attend most of my classes, the general classroom building, looks more like it belongs in the Chicago skyline right next to the high rise apartment that the Evans family lived in "Good Times". There is a courtyard outside of the 9-story brown brick and crème stucco building whose pea gravel speckled patio is covered in cigarette butts and dark gray blobs of ancient bubble gum. On nice days, it is a great place to loiter and people watch. For the most part, people pair themselves off in intimate impenetrable groups of two or three, but there is a group of recently promoted high school stoners that lurk about the building entrance. One of these guys, whom I have christened Shaggy, sports a devilish tuft of hair off the jutting precipice of his Clinton Tarantino-sized chin. He is always dressed for summer, even on the coldest of February days, with an armless black Metallica tee-shirt and oversized skateboarder pants. Many nights he uses the concrete bench that traverses the perimeter of the courtyard as a podium to deal out his obnoxious and unfunny wit. Imagine the following excerpt from his base and juvenile rant done in the hoarse satanic tone of a death metal singer. "There was this girl, and she did not know me from Adam, and I jumped in front of her and said, "The police took my drugs!". Ha ha ha ha and she just looked at me like she was freaking out man." Insert courteously laughs from his disillusioned, disgruntled, lazy-ass, and spoiled cronies. The bad part is that somewhere a cute girl probably likes him.

Many of the students spend their time before and after class on cell phones. Occasionally I will catch a piece of a conversation, "You sound like you are mad at me" and "I am in the courtyard mother fucker". When the weather is good, street venders come down from Peachtree Street and setup shop in little yellow taped rectangles on the ground. The eclectic selection of goods offered by some of these venders always amazes me. Where else can you get a poster of Haile Selassie and a real imitation leather cover for your cell phone? Crystal skulls and phony Aztec jewelry also seem to be popular. I wonder where these guys come up with there business model: "Hmmmmm I got it Simmy !, The formula to make us rich ! Here it is: Crystal Skulls + Incense + bootleg Reggae CD's = financial independence!” The randomness of the products makes you appreciate even the most unimaginative business idea: Coke + potato chips + chewing gum = profit. Not particulary original but might just make a buck. Anyway, I digress. I guess that I will have to face it … I missed out on the whole college experience. So far, the best part is sitting in that courtyard and listening to the roller coaster ride that is the youthful life.

'Yeah, it is kinda hard with my boyfriend in California and all, but we are going to make it work."
"Dude, the police took my drugs!"
''Why are you talking in that tone, you sound like you are made at me?"
"Jason will be out soon and he has cigarettes."

Being young would be so much better if you could do it when you are older.