I took one creative writing class in college - and the professor was a tenured dude who was out of his mind and spent the whole semester calling in "sick" or explaining the game of Craps to us. No lie. The whole semester, we wrote one story. Mine was a story about a bank robbery, wherein $5,000 (hey, in 1992 $5k meant something) found itself on the floor between the eyes of a bum in for a few minutes from the cold and an uber-rich mofo in there to pay the note on yet another Mercedes. The two locked eyes, and thoughts race through both of their minds as they lied there. To one man, the $5k could change his life forever; the other, it was a drop in the bucket.
Who got the money? The rich guy. Seemed more likely to me, and I figured there's not always a happy ending; sometimes a story just ends.
Prof's notes: "I don't like the ending. See me."
Hmm.
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