Summertime.

Sitting on the floor of the hall, I watched with amusement as the high school boys prowled about and watch hungrily as the girls exposed themselves like animals in heat. It was almost the opposite of the animal kingdom, with the girls putting on bright, showy, revealing displays as the boys admired them stupidly, trying to get their pitiful minds around the concept of "only take one."

It was summer time, that lovely season involving shorter clothes, lusty boys, and the glamourization and exploitation of girls in naught but their unmentionables and oddly enough, shoes and jewelry.

I lounged, unnoticed, and felt the heat of the day crawl its way into every corner; The time passed slowly as I counted each second and each gasp of pleasure uttered from the girls' bathrooms. Oh, the joys of a public high school. There's really nothing like it. Unless one considers a city brothel.

I watched some girls I used to know in grade school, walking hand-in-hand with boys, remembering the days when I used to play clapping games with those girls, the words "I love so-and-so" temporarily tattooed on our hands with purple or blue gel ink. Now they were two and a half times as old as they were then, wearing short skirts and heels, believing they were mature; deceiving themselves. They allowed the boys we once giggled over to touch them and kiss them in empty rooms or deserted hallways after school. We have all lost our childish ignorance, and with it our innocence.