The Country from Hell

Feeling the satisfying weight of the soggy bills in your pants pocket (not the one with a hole in it), you make a beeline for the municipal pool. You could take the streetcar, but you'd rather save your earnings on things that make you feel good. The sweat drips steadily into your eyes, blinding you as you idle your way down the sidewalk. For this reason, you almost don't notice when you pass by the University, where the entrance test results are supposed to be posted today.

Not feeling at all lucky, you slouch over to the School of Engineering where you can already see some guys gathered around a long white list posted to the side of the building. You chose to go for engineering because the school is the most modern at the University; it could actually pass for a Western building, standing out like a little diamond amongst the dreary blocks. You also got good grades in math. So why not become an engineer?

Walking up nonchalantly, you feel a little stab of panic. You didn't expect that. You've been training yourself all your life not to give a fuck what happens because things will just happen the way they're going to happen anyway. That's life. Scanning quickly for your last name, you find it is not there. It figures. You knew it already. Oh well. You tell yourself that you never applied to the University in the first place. You'd be much better off selling black-market toasters the rest of your life. No, there was never any School of Engineering. You don't even care to find out your score. It probably sucked. Your father is dumber than a rock. What then gives you the right to be Einstein?

You blame the heaviness of your feet on the oppressive heat. You continue forging your way to the municipal pool, wondering despite yourself what you will do in the coming year. No school, no work, no prospectsÂ…

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