The bus stopped outside his school, a plain looking building in East Village. It's walls were a dull beige, the paint faded near the top but much fresher and bright near the bottom, a sign of new coats being continuously applied, probably to cover up graffiti. He rather liked the graffiti culture here in the U.S. Many of the tags were artistically genius, and to him, the very act of painting a masterpiece in secrecy was something that amazed him. It was a way of expressing rebellion through art. Of course, there was a very big difference between actual art and just spraying a signature or a penis on concrete, like you were marking your territory.

A flimsy chain-link fence surrounded the school, the gates being closed off during the school day. This was a closed campus, and the fence was presumably to protect students in case of outbreaks of violence. It was a nice way of saying "Keep Out" but it wasn't hard to tell that if anyone did attack the building or the students inside, the fence would only hinder the movements of the police.

He really didn't want to have to go to the attendance office and have to wait for a note to get to class, he had always hated bureaucracy, so he slipped under a well known gap in the fence, re-attaching the zip tie to it once he was inside. The school's cheap band-aid solution to their gap in the fence would only be good as long as it didn't prove a problem. If the ties were lost or the gap widened, they might be convinced it was time to bring out a blowtorch and fix it. 

The bell signaling the end of second period rang just as he stepped through the cafeteria doors, and he couldn't help but groan. Great, one period was bad enough, but two? All because of that damn cat and the damn bus driver. Still, as long as he had some time between classes, he figured he might as well take his daily dose of cancer.

Crossing the cafeteria and pushing the door open to the boy's bathroom, he sat down inside one of the locked stalls, pulling out his packet and lighter. The stench of smoke and the rush of nicotine brought almost immediate relief to his aching senses. The entire school stunk worse than the bus, filled with the scents of deodorants, sweat, food, gas, ink, makeup, pus, drugs, and of course, raging teenage hormones. He looked down at his pact, shaking the remanding cigarette's around. Only seven more. He'd have to buy more on his way home. Being a chain smoker was the only way to survive in this enormous city, and being in an enormous city was the only way to blend in. And he needed to blend in.

Flushing the ashes and butt of his cigarette down the toilet, he stepped out to the sinks and washed the dirt off his hands. He then stepped out of the bathroom and joined the crowded and noisy halls of traveling youths. Let's see, he had missed both Mathematics and English, meaning his next class was PE. He crinkled his nose in disgust. Oh dear lord. The locker rooms. He really should have taken a second smoke.