Without a Leash
Corbin just sat there, dangling his legs off of the roof of the high school, willing the time to pass. He ran his thin fingers through his jet black hair, scratching an itch that just wouldn't seem to leave him be, and continued to thump his red tennis shoes against the brick wall of the building. The shredded tails of his baggy blue jeans floated lazily in the wind, presenting a care-free apparatus which so blatantly mocked their owner.
Corbin wasn't sad, he wasn't even lonely, he was just alone-and he liked it that way. He enjoyed his vantage point, watching his high school peers like a scientist watches mice navigate a maze. He knew it was creepy, the way he just stared, but he didn't care. He would rather spend his time doing more interesting things than scrambling from person to person trying to construct feeble liasons called friendship.
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