I cannot believe I am going into my senior

I cannot believe I am going into my senior year of college!

This is what I thought in the days when my future seemed to be a rolling plain filled with equal sunny light. Now time crumbles like a sandcastle in front of the relentless tide

of humanity restlessly combing the beach. Actually the sandcastle is more like crumbled blue cheese, awaiting I know not what for an indefinite time period. Yes, time awaits itself

to catch up with the future. Damn, that's good. I'll write that one down. Sitting alone on the beach brings out the philosopher in me. I turned to a fresh page in my journal.

It was the first page in my journal. I stared out into the ocean. Yeah, man, come on god's glory, fill me with something totally dank to write down in my journal. I sat there for l

-unch, and it was so doggoned pleasant that it totally ruined the dark mood I had been in and I almost lost all hope of inspired journal writing for that day. Then a gull hit the

into my developing short story. It was on a napkin, used for *sniff* wiping some hamburger grease away. Mmmh. The blonde waitress in the greasy sppon spilled the coke on a patron

and the ice scattered across the linoleum floor like broken glass and the man yelled at her to pick it up and he kept yelling until she picked up every piece of ice.

Three years later, the floor was an ice rink that was nicknamed Hell's Kitchen. People came from miles around to look for future Olympics gold medalist skaters. The owners retired.