Fifth Floor Common Room; Sunday Evening [ 03/18 ].
Britta was not on the roof. It was a shocker, to be sure, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she was broke and totally out of both cigarettes and pot. She supposed she could go up and wait for someone and bum a smoke from them, but that seemed just pathetic.
So she was bumming in the common room instead, a bag of baby carrots in her lap and the remote control in her hand, as she flipped through the channels, looking for something interesting to watch. She wasn't expecting to find anything, and her steady commentary supported this fact.
"Crap," she said, changing the channel. "Crap. More crap. Capitalist crap. Ugh, misogynistic crap. Feminist crap. Crap. Crap. Crap."
"Ugh. Where's The Real World?"
One day, Britta might stop expecting it to still be 1997. One day.
[[ open common room is open. duh-doy! ]]
So she was bumming in the common room instead, a bag of baby carrots in her lap and the remote control in her hand, as she flipped through the channels, looking for something interesting to watch. She wasn't expecting to find anything, and her steady commentary supported this fact.
"Crap," she said, changing the channel. "Crap. More crap. Capitalist crap. Ugh, misogynistic crap. Feminist crap. Crap. Crap. Crap."
"Ugh. Where's The Real World?"
One day, Britta might stop expecting it to still be 1997. One day.
[[ open common room is open. duh-doy! ]]