After classes, the hallway outside of Locker 327 was quiet.  Surprisingly quiet.

At least until the door of Locker 327 shot open and three weetiny boys were flung one after another into the hallway followed by a hail of timbits and poutine.  Also possibly a salmon or two and a jug of maple syrup.

George picked himself up slowly, starting to snicker ( Read more... )