Black-Rimmed Glasses and Toothpaste
My mom was to come home in twenty minutes, and I still hadn't gone to the store for the groceries. She was going to kill me. I'd decided to stay in the library after school because I needed to finish an essay in English, a very significant essay; it was worth 60% of my overall grade, and Mrs. Damask was intent on torturing us till the end of May came around. As soon as the essay was saved on my flash drive, I whirled around to look for the clock in the library, hoping I hadn't taken half of my afternoon. Twitching slightly, the lean minute hand slowly made it's way to the twelve. The hour hand yearned to reach the six. I was very, very late.
I ran out of the school waddling like a duck, for my messenger bag brought me down only on one side, and I held my keys on the hand opposite it.
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