Bill had been waiting in an uncomfortable desk outside the room where his teacher was giving conferences for ten minutes now. Tapping fingers had lost all appeal, as had staring blankly into space. Turning around to the bulletin behind him, he scanned the variety of study abroad opportunities available to him. One caught his eye; it was about spending a semester in Nigeria. Not particularly attractive, but there were little 1"x 2" scraps you could pull off to remind you of your interest. He tore one off and looked at the front of it, which featured an old African man with a tired but kind face. Bill thought the man looked kind of sad, and wondered why. He picked up his pen and drew the man a little black fedora to cover his bald head. The man now looked a little more distinguished, but still sad. It was in his eyes, Bill decided, and he promptly drew the man some big black sunglasses. Though the man’s eyes were no longer visible, it seemed that something was still awry in his little world. Bill drew him the only remaining thing that seemed appropriate: a pair of arms and a harmonica. Bill spent a considerable amount of time with these; if the little man was to continue being sad, Bill didn’t want it to be because the man had unusable cartoonish appendages or a harmonica that could not be played. That did it, the little man now seemed to be at peace in his 1"x 2" prison.

"Hey, man, she said you can come in now."

Bill snapped to attention, grabbed his backpack and dashed into the classroom while the wind from his body blew the poor little man onto the rug, where he landed face up. The little man blinked behind his sunglasses, brought the harmonica to his mouth, and began to sing a catchy little tune about lost love and missing rent.

(unfinished)