fragment 2.

Will didn’t know what he was going to do for money this year, of course he wanted a job in an art store but all art students want that, instead he’d just avoid the cliché and disappointment and find a simpler job. He got a job in a photocopy place on campus, assisting people with their copy needs. He did alright, he photocopied until his fingertips were black and left fingerprints all over his drawings when he went home that night. He worked with some awesome people, these masculine fresh-faced bearded guys, Josh and Luke who both wore flannel shirts and dark brown leather boots and knew how to survive in a forest. Sweat and facial hair, tough denim and pencil scrawled notebooks. Thinkers and doers, active and controlled. Will slung his messenger bag over his shoulders and wanted to be more like them. They’d never try to be like anyone else. He’d shrug his way home into his dark apartment, listen to Dale’s thumping heartbeat music and sit, his abdomen pressed to the edge of the table and his forearms putting pressure down. Why didn’t he have more to say? Preoccupation and slight of hand, ADHD and silver fish, flitting through the legs of his chair and the legs of the drafting table and through his legs, swim over to the girl in the apartment across from his, through her legs and the iron bars of her bed.