He ran out of the two story modern wonder that would give most architects a hard in and puked in the bushes. The tangy, sour taste coated his mouth as his breakfast came back for an encore. Even in late autumn, sweat was beaded on his forehead and his aides ached from the effort regurgitation took on his body. It was his punishment, he thought to himself, the cause and effect of last night's shenanigans had come to collect. On any other campus it might've been normal to see kids puking on a Monday morning, but not here. There was a certain level of decorum one must follow, to always look put together and glamorous even if you were on the verge of death from the Black Plague. It was practically the school's motto.
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The Ivy
General FictionJust a story about a boy fumbling his way through an Ivy League school and hoping not to fuck it up too much.
