And he's just a frightening memory. If he'd only known that I'd played out a confrontation with him, a complete stranger, up to and including the point where I'm asking the night watchman at the dormitory for rubber gloves so that I may undress safely, he'd probably die laughing. I guess that'd make two of us, if my vocal cords weren't tied in a knot. It was the worst night to be outside, but I just didn't have a choice. I was just propelled.
Every inhalation sounds like it's through tightly-stretched plastic wrap.
And then, someone decided to take a shower, at two o'clock in the morning, another ubiquitous asshole jock who wants the entire world to know exactly where he is and what he's doing at all times. Doors slam over and over. The stalls in the bathroom are flung open and slammed shut. Even the water in the shower stall seems to burst into life with some sort of violence. And worst of all, at least for me since I've been living with this sound for months, is that this is the anonymous asshole who has bells of some sort on his keyring.