June

 

They filter into the building. A steady stream of somber, peppered by an pattern of dress-code violations alternating with streams of text and music. 

I wish them good morning. They pack up hats and the headphones. 

It is June. Late June for school. Late-we-should-already-be-started-on-summer June. The minds are gone. Mush. Waiting for the ice cream man to pass by, bell ringing loudly. 

Waiting for the beach towels with sand kicked all over them, frying on a hot summer day. 

Waiting for vacation, adventure… 

Waiting for the chorus of…

“I’m bored. There’s nothing to do…When’s school.” 

Soon, we’ll be back again. 

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