DANIEL

You're sitting on some steps, huge marble stairs climbing to the building above. The building is of a modern design, though the architects have attempted to mimic the architecture of the great european minds of the renaissance. The building is surrounded by a labyrinth of sidewalks wrapped carelessly around large patches of grass with trees interspersed throughout. Benches draw in the travellers with a strange magnetism. People congregate around them, driving away the pigeons that were feeding there a moment ago on the remnants of bread crumbs that were scattered across the sidewalk. Hundreds of people navigate the sidewalks, empty eyes fixed upon the sidewalk or simply staring into space, their mind too occupied with the thoughts of what they’ll do after their next class or what flavor or ramen they’ll have tonight to take in their surroundings.

But you don’t have a class, so here you sit on the steps to the library. You’re people watching, observing the people around you, what they do, trying to get into their mind without a word spoken. It’s for a class, you’ll say to anybody who asks, you with your notepad and pen are convincing evidence. But really it’s just for entertainment.

Your eye is caught by a young man. Alone in the crowd, separated by his tie-dyed shirt, khaki shorts and long hair drawn back in a ponytail that’s fed through the back of his Green Peace ball cap, Whom you dub Granola. Your gaze follows him through the seemingly endless deluge of bodies. He sits on one of the unoccupied benches, and the pigeons immediately start to gather. Apparently he’s a regular here. No bread crumbs this time though. He pulls out a small brown bag and removes some peanuts. As he tosses them on the ground the pigeons realize that the meal isn’t for them and disperse as one. Now a little black squirrel that was watching and chittering from the tree above catiously approaches. He moves up, pauses, moves forward, pauses. He timidly reaches a paw out to the peanut, sees that Granola doesn’t make a move. The squirrel snatches the peanut and races back up the tree and gorges itself on the free lunch. This time, Tie-dye hold the peanut in his fingers, hoping to get the squirrel closer. It works to an extent. The fingers were mistaken for part of the nut it seems. Granola scares off the squirrel with a yelp, grabs his back and heads off to find an adhesive bandage. (You’re sure he’s too broke to buy band-aid brand.)

Three people speed past our injured tree-hugger on inline skates. Baggy jeans and T-shirts advertising various corporations and bands on the two male specimen, denim shorts small enough to qualify as underwear and a tight-fitting carebear t-shirt adorning the female, complimented by pink tinkerbell earrings. One of the trio is distracted by an attractive pair of legs rounding a corner and neglects to turn with the sidewalk. He trips as he hits the grass, and faceplants firmly on the freshly cut lawn. Several heads turn, some snicker, others shrug and move on. Carebear stops to help and ensure that our easily distracted subject, we’ll call him Oogle, hasn’t sustained any serious injuries. The other male skids to a stop with his arm and finger already extended, the other hand clutched over his stomach as if his explosive laughter might expel his innards if he doesn’t hold them in.

A professor walks past you, down the steps from the library. He’s your comp sci 102 professor, carrying an attaché case in his left hand and a textbook on C++ in his right. His balding head is slightly covered by the thinned comb over of once-black hair, now riddled with grey streaks. Large circular glasses teeter on the edge of his nose, threatening to plummet to the sidewalk where they would likely be crushed by the brown loafers that fail to compliment his wrinkled suit. It amazes you how the other students around him seem to hold him in such an aloof status. He makes no effort to appear as such, they simply give him a wide girth, and heed him as if he were either insane or a genius, or both. “Good morning,” he says to several students as he passes, likely his students from classes past, or current students trying to get teacher’s pet status. A small boy, blonde, unkempt hair covering up most of his ears and hiding his eyes steps up. You’re amazed at this boy, it doesn’t seem possible for him to even move, his muscles beginning to undergo atrophy from lack of use sitting in front of a computer all day long, a “hacker’s hunch” developed from the resulting bad posture. This is a kid from your class, you actually feel a bit sorry for him, even though he seems happy enough. You’re pretty sure that he’s just hiding it and really doesn’t get out because he doesn’t have any real friends. He missed class the other day, you assume that he was talking to the professor about what he missed, and just got the assignment. They part ways after a block. The professor turns a corner, and Quasimodo continues on his path toward the dormitories.

Another body catches your eye now. The one attached to the legs that caused the skating calamity. She wears a pair of green corduroy pants and a yellow shirt with a smiley on it. The text below the smiley says, “Smile, it makes people wonder what you’re up to.” Her auburn hair is tied back in a braid that hangs just below her shoulder blades. You’re pretty sure it’s been dyed, but it’s hard to tell. One of the few people around who’s eyes aren’t vacant, actually taking in the surroundings. You can tell because her eyes dart back and forth from scene to scene, and her face makes slight changes as she examines the events taking place.

Her gaze turns to you, you quickly look back down at the paper and feign writing. She averts her gaze, and you notice in your peripheral vision. You go back to watching. Now following her eyes instead of her. She’s looking at Quasimodo. He’s walking along staring at his feet, you’re uncertain if it’s because of his poor posture, or low self esteem; probably both. The skaters wiz past, he doesn’t notice them until the third, the male with the volatile innards, clips his shoulder as you pass. He turns and makes an apologetic gesture while still in motion, and turns just in time to avoid hitting another pedestrian from behind. Quasimodo stumbles, retaining his balance, but failing to retain his books, now scattered about the ground. He sighs, apparently used to being mistreated, and kneels to collect his belongings. Smiley, the auburn haired girl, half sighs and half snickers at the boy’s misfortune as she walks over to help.

Quasimodo is apparently unused to the presence of a female who is willing to engage in any sort of conversation with him. You wonder to yourself: Does Smiley do this sort of thing often? Acting as a tiny handhold in climbing the social ladder? Is it really that simple? Can a small event like this serve to improve a person’s life? You glance at your watch and realize that class is starting soon and you should head out. Your path to the computer science wing takes has you following Quasimodo and smiley for some time. They seem to be enjoying the conversation at least. They pause, and you instinctively slow so as to remain behind and observe for as long as possible. As you pass, you hear the exchange of personal information, and an arrangement for a future meeting. You smile slightly, and hope that it turns out to be a nice friendship. You enter the door to your classroom, the professor already scribbling on the overhead in a hurry to get a few last notes down before the class begins. You glance around the room. Many of the seats are already filled. You spend a moment trying to decide who you'd want to sit next to. Finally, you take your seat next to a young man with long hair and a tie-dyed T-shirt. His hand rests on his textbook, a flintstones band-aid wrapped around his index finger.