[h3][color=ed1c24]Nick Kostashe[/color]

[/h3]
September 5th, 1969.
0805 HRs


[i]"I wa-"
[/i]

It was about that time that Nick's cig hit the ground and the conversation ended, Nick reached down and picked up the dropped cig. It laid in his hand as he redressed the tobacco stick to his ear. His demeanour changed from calm and chill to pissed and grump and it was evident when he shoved some student out of his way as he began to walk to his locker. It didn't take long because coincidentally his locker was right near the main office, a pack of matches laid inside his locker along with posters of scantily clad women, books and various miscellaneous school and personal supplies (like his smokes). Taking out the matches from his locker, he quickly struck one - causing a quick ignition as he placed the stick between his lips. Smoke billowed out of his mouth as he exhaled a mouthful of smoke into a few juniors who passed by him.

[i]"Old man, you're so fucked."[/i]

Leaning up against his locker, the young guardsmen continued his cig. As long as Black or Jones weren't in the halls then maybe he could have some peace. It's not like anyone else would fuck with a senior - maybe. He pulled on his varsity jacket, the fabric hugged him tighter as he started to button up the previously unbuttoned jacket. His body hid under the cool Green and Gold colors (the schools) of the baseball jacket. He walked over to the entrance where S/O Black was still patrolling. He double backed and headed for the line up at guidance, he had time to kill after all. When he arrived at guidance, the line started to bend around the hall. Taking his place at the back of the line Nick stood with his hands in his pockets as time continued to chip away, like sand falling through an hour glass.