Just got out of my first class after break. The chairs were calling my name. I asked them to be patient, so things wouldn't get out of had. The prof. had his hair done again. Very silly hair that smiles down the middle, with two much smaller smiles on the front on either side of the larger. His timid voice beggs the microphone. Lucky for the voice, there hasn't been a microphone so generous since... Well as long as that sort of things been around. Someone tell me whether or not the rumours surrounding Napoleans penis were flattering. History is my left hand. My left hand is a waterfall, waiting to pull you into itself. So the rest of me can look back one day, and recognize all the beauty there. There, in time or faces or memories made to suit the occasion.