There was a boy who slept on the couch outside my ethnomusicology class. Everyday.
He never moved.
He wore the same outfit and slept in the same position.
It never mattered when I went by the couch, he was there. Even when I checked on a Saturday, he was still there.
One day I had the panicked thought that he was dead before realizing that if he was, he would have rotted. Someone would have noticed.
Every time I saw him I felt angry. Or sad. Or confused. It was driving me crazy. I needed to wake him up!
It was the day after I decided this that I went to my ethnomusicology class and found the small, gray couch empty.