I want to darken the room and sit, legs crossed, on top of the table.  Chris, with the long hair and slow way of speaking, strums his electric guitar, un-amplified, in the lounge below.   I peer over the balcony to see if anyone besides Chris would see me acting strangely.  Too many people– shit– I don’t want people to think I’m the weird kid.  The bank of driers that rumble and creak like cogs in a clock measure out the passing time.

These noises ground me, hold me back as I attempt to transcend the 7th floor of my dorm Cottonwood.  I rock back, leaning sideways, in the cheap, wooden chair and the edges dig into my ribcage.  If I could sit on the table and turn off all the damn lights this would be so much easier.

The obnoxious arrow of jerry’s Drive-In Liquors blinks persistently, drawing in barely-legal college students like a Siren luring sailors to their graves.  A police SUV and a white sedan wait to make a left turn from Rural Road onto Apache Boulevard.  The turn signals bathe the otherwise dim street with rhythmic pulses of light.

The sun set, but about 20 minutes earlier the windows of the Vue reflected the sunset.  I watched them change from a burnt orange, to a dusky purple, then to a deep black, speckled with a few defiantly lit rooms.  Off to the far left, in the Northeast, I see the light rail make a slow, arching turn and trundle along due West.  Just in front of me is drunk Taco Bell.  Usually bustling with inebriated students, the fast food joint stands empty.  It’s a Monday night, so the lack of activity is expected, but feels oddly foreign.

Enough distractions– I need to close my eyes, focus on my breathing, and become immersed in my mind.  I sit up in my chair and let the breath travel through my torso, but rather than clearing my mind of distractions, I notice I’ve been clenching my jaw.  With one long, exasperated sigh I surrender to a lesser consciousness and begin to remove my warm, rough towels from dryer three.