One Good Minute

So today, then:

One good minute.

Goofy ass kid in my late afternoon class. Always looking to be looked at, always making a comment. The type who makes a face for twenty minutes and won't stop until someone notices and laughs.

Today he's late because the bus back from the P.E. at the bowling alley is late. (The state of Physical Education at the Secondary level should be obvious to whoever utters those words.) He rushes in and finds his seat and collapses. He's quiet. Too quiet. But every time I turn around, I can sense he's doing something. I wait until my cheeta-like reflexes will be most unexpected. I catch him in the act of lifting his sweatshirt up to reveal a t-shirt beneath.

The Italian Stalion, it reads.

"Like Rockie!" He shouts, gleeful like a ten-year-0ld girl.

One good minute.

Allow me to recommend:
Quinn
Greg
Anything written, performed, or produced by Will Johnson
John Vanderslice's spring tour diary (if you're in the mood for a touch of melancholy...)