By: Mario Micallef
[Monday, 8:32 a.m., Worcester Massachusetts, 42 degrees with a thick stagnant haze over the College of the Holy Cross campus. A large flock of crows lands on the south ledge of the Fenwick spire and some perch on the sun-roof of the adjacent building, Smith Hall. The group of maybe 200 birds quickly flee as there isn’t enough space for all of them to settle collectively and 97% of them fly off to the nearby O’Kane ledge, but three birds remain atop Fenwick. They face west, overlooking a few student stragglers heading into Stein.]
Remy: If they think I’m gonna follow them again they are bat sh-
Brian: Woah, woah! Come on, Rem. Why are you in a mood?
Ally: Yeah, what’s the big deal if they leave?
Remy: I’m sick of them expecting me to follow them around like a freshman does an athlete.
Ally: Pretty harsh. Are you salty because ultimate frisbee kicked you off the squad since you failed the initiation?
Remy (ruffling his feathers nervously): No, and no I have terrible cholesterol. But, for the record, I could have easily finished the whole disk, but that milk was scalding hot, not lukewarm as they promised.
Ally (sipping her watery iced latte): Are you cranky because you don’t have a meal plan, and have finally tested the patience of those you’ve been mooching off of?
Remy (pointing his beak to the heavens): The fact that so many people, this late in the semester, still have 400 dining dollars left pisses me off. I mean most of it will just be wasted. Let alone the absolute mayhem they’re causing for the Lobby Shop people. Good God, have you seen them? They are stocking shelves like we’ve started World War 3. People really just don’t know how to spend their money: you’ve got some people buying nine packs of Five-Gum, others stocking up on Nyquil, and I’ve even seen someone buy those weird Soda-stream things.
Brian: Those are weird. There is zero point to making your own soda—just leave it to the conglomerates.
Ally: It sounds like someone is hungry.
Remy: Nah, I had a couple Chobani Key lime pie flip cups on my flight over.
Brian: I could eat. Ally, do you want to get a plastic egg sandwich from Cool Beans before the pre-Santa-Claus-darty information session starts?
Ally: Maybe. Remy do you want to come?
Remy: All set on the gruel. Last time I had one of those sandwiches, the egg was stuck to the paper, so, naturally, I ate the paper but, really, I think it added flavor. I’ll just meet you guys at the info-session.
Brian: Remy, by the way, Ally and I have been meaning to tell you: you’ve got to stop just dropping anywhere. Like, come on man, why do you always do it over the tour groups?
Remy: I can go where I please. Besides, it will give ‘em a little taste of what’s to come.
Ally: You are sick.
Remy: Not true, just got my booster, that influenza bizness isn’t gonna touch me.
[Suddenly, the flock of crows flies by the three on the ledge, heading toward north of campus. Instincts kick in and the three crows jump and fly towards the flock and synchronously join it. A tour group is seen exiting Smith Hall, and as a proud Dad on a tour with his wife and daughter smiles at the sunlight now sneaking through the haze, droppings splatter on his porkpie hat.]
Remy: Welcome to campus!
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