And when The Raven unwound in my room, I

And when The Raven unwound in my room, I gave the yarn I'd stored:

The sky was damp and dark, just like my woman. Ay, but are ye sure ye want t' hear this yarn, this tale of woe? For 'tis not for the fainthearted, dear Raven.

The music was black, chrome and flowed like liquid night, just like my woman. The cinema was dark, loud and had a sticky seat, just like my woman. The art was

chunky, with extra cilantro, just like my guacamole. The art displayed at this musical cinema was rotund, and forceful, with big child-bearing hips and soft eyes just like my

uncle Floyd. The fondue was jejune, the cobwebbed chandeliers fetid and feckless, and the servers were ignorant of the finer points of particle physics. Andy was not amused, and

Andy rarely was. Amusement did not suit, no sir. Not one bit. Uh-uh. He balled up his fists and stood there with a sneer on his face. Particle physics was not a disco nor a party.

He was sick of his classmates making jokes and not paying attention. If they didn't like the class, why did they join it? He went home that night, and had a devious plan in mind.

So he pushed all the blame for the vandalism on the group of boys. They didn't even argue, as if getting suspended from school was now normal to them. Deep down, he felt guilty.

Here he was sitting in class conjugating irregular verbs, when he could be out playing hookie. He resolved to honesty admit to his transgressions in the future.