The corridors are a chill spot, the place the misbehavers hibernate once they’ve been kicked out of class – silence fills it’s space until five pass the hour, when havoc erupts, one hundred kids exit their classes rushing into the hallways. We see our friends who just finished getting their brains filled other lessons, screaming and shouting from afar; ‘Yoo’ ‘my Gee’ ‘my don’ ‘my Ahk’ the personal connection, the my has nothing to do with ownership, it’s the recognition that we’re in this together, from struggle to triumph. The hallways have just recently been painted, a fresh white, like Colgates, that’s what they call white airforces, Colgates, if it wasn’t for the strict dress code for shoes we’d probably all  be rocking em now.

My bruddas lazily stroll through the hallway, we’re the only ones in the narrow stretch of hard  grey carpet, are steps are slower than after work traffic, by third period we had already given up, now its fifth and we all had the same lesson, Maths.

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