It wasn’t a one room schoolhouse. It looked more like a mental institution. It was a long one story brick building with
windows you couldn’t see into.
The long hallways had tile floors and were lined on each side with metal
lockers. They echoed with the sounds of
failure.
It sat in an upper-middle class neighborhood, with tree-lined streets, manicured lawns and every October scary decorations were displayed, as if fun times were normal.
Although it was only high school, kids from wealthier families
drove their cars to school. The parking
lot had a small shack at the entrance with one security guard. His name was Scotty. He was overweight, friendly and usually the
only one who ever smiled.
The teacher’s lounge always held a cloud of cigarette smoke,
as the circulation in the building was only adequate enough to carry a stream
of rumors from room to room. It was not uncommon, when
passing the lounge, to hear teachers comparing paychecks, or upcoming vacations.
Leading by example was not their strong suit, but looking back - it was an education.
Zobostic Corwin
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