departed my home with a solitary glance back at the establishment that I grew so foundly of because of the memories and the sentimental value that sprouted from the cracks in the asfault of the drive. All of my familiar hangouts were passing before my eyes and the black car headed south to my new home. Never did I think I could call this place a home. My home is where I grew up and where my parents are. Neither of these things apply to this hotel-like fieldtrip that’s been ongoing for a few month and counting.
The public toliets and the Sinks full of nasty hair and noodles because some ignorant girl doesn’t know what a garbage can looks like apparently was slightly repulsive to me. The cleanest individual in the world I am not, but my mother taught me better than to dump the ever popular college dish of ramon noodles down a sink where others try to cleanse their hands and brush their pearly whites. Ah yes the sweet signs of home sweet home.
Taking the elevator to floor at was a nightmare and a half considering my childhood fear of taking an getting stuck in the little box and dying in a crowded spilled on floor. At one point in the course of history did it become acceptable for elevators to breakdown multiply times but the crowds of lazy students keep using them. Yes quite frankly they don’t care if there is someone like me who has a fear of this malfunctioning of machinery that carries precious cargo.
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