Receipt for a reading brick; I had a brief and competent conversation with the girl in the pink cardigan who sold it to me

The aura of adulthood is in stained, worn carpet tiles with old coffee trodden in and wastepaper baskets and notice boards and feet echoing through stairwells. Its late afternoon and I'll have to walk across campus to get to my heated car with the protesting accelerator and dulling paint. I washed it last week on a whim and promised myself I'd keep it clean, maybe go to one of those car shops and buy polish and chamois cloths and the like. Clean cars are not grown up because boys in frayed baseball caps with dirt under their fingernails have very clean cars