I watch somberly from the window, as the soldiers investigate the damage sustained from the crash. This is supposed to be a safe visit of state, but things never seem to go to plan here.

Crashes and bangs come from inside the shuttle walls, where grease monkeys do their best to repair the mechanics while welders patch up the outside. The soldiers run around, waving around their weapons, to see if they can find whatever shit us down. When they consider the amount of issues combined with the zero casualties, it will appear to be an amateur’s handiwork.

If only they knew-

“If only they knew what, bro? This doesn’t look like math,” Mr. Larson drawled in his I’m-so-cool-and-all-my-students-love-me voice, as he pulled my notebook out from under my desk. He was a strange little man. With a face full of white stubble, he was very fond of over sharing about his girlfriend in Texas and acting all modern.

“Mr. Larson, at least I’m not committing arson like last week. I’m simply writing a story. It’s way better than smoking weed in the courtyard, or hooking up in the gender neutral bathroom, or, my favorite yet, jumping out the window to play crossy road in the parking lot,” I stated, confidently.

“…..do I even want to know when you do all this stuff?”