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[/b][/h3][/sup][/color][/row][row][cell][sup][h2][color=black]MEIR MAGGID[/color][/h2][/sup]
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[sup][color=black][b]█  [sup]   [/sup]act one: way down we go[/b][/color][/sup][indent][sup][color=a9a9a9]cambridge, mass [color=black]▸[/color] p. johnson's
Interacting with [@nodogs]
[/color][/sup][/indent][center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/824488408562794527/970459343667494932/unknown.png[/img][/center][sub][color=#2e2c2c]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color][/sub][/cell][cell][center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/824488408562794527/967592442486460476/unknown.png[/img][/center][indent][color=dcdcdc][sub][I]Thump…Thump…Thump[/i] 

Sitting in a spinny chair rocked all the way back with his feet leisurely lifted on his desk sat none other than Meir Maggid. He had been steadily tossing a handball, one of which his students left behind, against the chalkboard. His laptop was open with Spotify shuffling through one of his several hundred carefully curated playlists for this specific event. Papers and books laid out in a splayed mess covering any visible portion of the desk. He wasn’t just playing catch with himself, rather he had written several languages equally spaced out from one on another on the chalkboard. Whatever the ball hit is whatever language he had to shout a sentence in. He was at this for about an hour now and he had already recited his grocery list, school schedule, and the names of his student rosters for the last five years. There wasn’t much else to do since he taught one lecture twice a week. It was quite a perk being the youngest professor at the University. 

The music paused before a bell rung from his mac and Siri spoke, [i]”Who wants to come down and watch ur childhood get hit with a wrecking ball? Booze will be involved—unlock to read the full notification"[/i]. Meir nearly fell out of his chair when he heard the message, more so after the ball came back and hit him square in the head since he wasn’t ready to catch it. Recollecting himself he scurried to his notifications and opened Facebook. It was rather weird to still have Facebook in 2022 the year of our lord, but how else was he going to know of things like this. He read on in pensive thought. To be honest his knee jerk reaction was a snide laugh before he closed the mac and shook his head. There was no way he was going to go back to that place or those people. Carefully convincing himself in a semi hurried pace he stopped dead with pupils creeping to the corner of his eyes back at the closed mac. In a frantic panic he ripped it open once more before entering his credentials. 

Why was he even friends with Jack on Facebook? Yeah, she didn’t bully him, but she wasn’t exactly his friend either. It must have just been automatic when he joined the 'Ritman High Class of 2015' group, either way it seemed strange for her to be the one to kick it off. As much as he didn’t want to go, he was becoming increasingly open to the notion. [color=black][b]“Fuck it”[/b][/color] he said as he liked the post and RSVP’d. If anything, this would be the perfect opportunity to show his glow up both physically and financially, to everyone who peaked in Highschool anyways. 

After a gentle reminder a month later and then three weeks before the event, Meir knew he was going to go regardless, it also helped that a majority of the class cancelled almost immediately. I guess people weren’t too attached or rather were waiting on the infamous 20 year instead. The time capsule made him more curious as to what could have possibly been buried with them. 

[i]”Welcome to Delton”[/I] the small city sign read as Meir gripped the steering wheel harder ever so slightly. Luckily he could cancel class and his students wouldn’t protest in the least; with his responsibilities out of the way he pulled into a familiar sight, P.J.’s. In the seven years since he graduated, absolutely nothing had changed or aged it. He looked himself once over before checking the clock, 4:30 pm, punctual as per usual. He stopped at the door, taking one deep breath before entering the bar. Looks like he was the first one to show up, that or he had jus forgotten what everyone looked like. Calvin didn’t recognize him when he came in and for that Meir didn’t blame him. [color=black][b]“Whiskey sour please and leave the tab open”[/b][/color] he requested politely. He took the glass and napkin in tow to one of the booths while he waited for it to hit 5. 

He scrolled up and down the group page, constantly refreshing, checking to see if anyone else had cancelled. If the last of the 8 were going to show, then things were going to be anything but boring. Ten minutes passed before he saw the back of Jack as she graciously glided into the bar with a massive metal capsule placed on the bartop. He choked a bit on his ice from the realization trying to regain his composure. Stuck between whether to approach her or not he resigned to eavesdropping instead. She scanned the room but missed him, figured. Looking for the right words to say he stood up and started for the bar. Before he could grab her attention, the notification chiming on his phone rung out first, as she had just finished tagging him in the latest update. Shit. 
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