The chair was hard plastic, the light brighter than any hallway needed to be.
He unfolded his hands.
His right thumbed lolled to the side.
John Tarvin laughed.
He expected them to note the laughter, though no one was present at the moment.
His essay was a thoughtful one, he believed: Why No One Hitchhikes Anymore.
It mourned a lost American tradition, the expiration of trust.
His classmates thought him odd. The essay received a B-, with red edits and questions splattered on the page as though the words were much worse.
Then someone found his backpack and his knife.
***
A haiku Jimmy - a haiku!
In my mid-teenage years I would routinely ride my bike to the end of our semi-rural road, stash it in the woods and hitch a ride downtown. Never had a problem. That was a long time ago and times have changed, for sure.
I like the story Jimmy. Not sure that I get whether this is a good kid or a casualty of our times.