She is working on an assignment for class, annoyed by every single noise around her. If she didn't want interruption, why'd she choose to do it in a food court? Obviously no silence. Obviously difficult to focus.

He is the energetic Taco Bell cashier who repeats- very loudly, I must add- everything the costumer says, to the point of telling the costumer what bill they just handed him. A little bit too into the job.

The young woman seated in the table across from us is searching intently. For what, I don't know. Her dyed red hair is flung over her shoulder and her heavy cross necklace hangs to the belly of her black top. That has to weigh her down. She's going somewhere important. I can tell by her quick walk and the way her messenger bag hangs off of her shoulder as she exits the food court.

He is sluggishly, nonchalantly, walking towards Taco Bell. He cares of nothing but getting that food soon. He seems to want to be noticed, though. That's obvious once you see the gigantic blonde, curly poofball attached to his head, gracing his shoulders. I'd hate to be standing behind him on a windy day.

The guy behind the Sbarro stand, in his plain white tee and jeans, has noticed my watching him. He stares at me and my friends with confusion, the look on his face asking either "What are kids doing in the EMU student center?" or "Why are those little punks staring at me?". Whatever his face is asking, I can tell he is not happy to see us.