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Why I was sitting in an Algebra class when I would never ever use the information was beyond me. I sat at the desk with the "not wood", yet "not plastic" writing surface. It was easily scratched since the thin veneer could be removed with the clip of an ink pen. I never wrote anything into it since, I never had much to say to the High School population. The desk held commentary concerning the teacher standing in the front of the class. According to the desk she was a shithead. I didnt see it myself, she seemed nice enough, a friendly smile, new slipper ballet shoes and obliged me by never calling on me. I had just returned from my mid morning smoke break. I would leave every class and meet Amy by the blue door for a 3 minute Parliament. We created smoke breaks as Sophomores in HS. Ten minutes into every new class we would sheepishly ask for a bathroom pass, since neither of us were notorious we received our pass and clogged our way to the second blue door, ...