we arrive at art history ten minutes late, try to unobtrusively find a seat at the back. the professor is enthusiastically demonstrating albertian perspective with a yardstick and chalk, and i murmur that we should have just stayed in bed. twenty minutes later, the drawn-out yelp of the fire drill garners an angry, just-this-side-of-vulgar gesture from the professor, and muted cheers from the class.

outside, the heat hits us like the back of a hand.