Liberal Arts

I sit in class and wonder what 4000 dollars a semester gets us. The girl in front of me had an abortion before she declared her major-then she went Women's Studies. The guy to my left did a line of coke in a bar bathroom and let one of his fraternity brothers blow him. I figure there's at least one date raper in here and I use that term loosely. He probably didn't have to use a roofie. He probably just played the nice guy and bought her a few shots of Sex on the Beach. The method isn't really important. What is important is that he had to get her unconscious so he could fuck her. She didn't press charges because she had too much fun last night. There's an eating disorder. Maybe a cutter. Probably a few pre-cancerous growths hiding under fake tans. It tears me up. I'm so fucking tired but I can't sleep because I have a mid-term tomorrow on symbolism in the short fiction of Flannery O'Connor. Earthquakes. Budget deficits. The Taliban. Flannery uses windows to represent gateways to the soul. Fuck it. I'll go to the bathroom to snort and adderal and suck it up.
Gotta graduate.
Gotta get a good job.
Gotta be the man.
Money
Cars
Pussy
And the chick next to me she's
Gotta lose weight
Gotta make her ex-boyfriend jealous
Gotta find her husband
Houses
White-Fences
Babies
We go home some weekends and our parents ask us how classes are going.
"Not too bad."
Go upstairs. Lock the door. Hide our faces under our pillows.