So, as you all may know, I attend college. I’m a Creative Writing major, so I have fully grasped the intense possibility, and likelihood, that I will be living out of a box for the rest of my life. That being said, I’ll have a degree, which I will eventually burn for warmth, but with that degree, I will find something like a refrigerator box, which we all know is the condo of the hobos. And then I will burn various things of garbage to stay warm. But before that day comes, I’m currently sitting in the pleasantly far too warm Science building, awaiting one of my general education classes. Why Creative Writing majors must take two – not one, but two- science classes is beyond me. Apparently the cosmos decided that my GPA was a joke and all that. But whatever.

Allie and I made a trip to the school’s taco truck. WELCOME TO ARKANSAS. OUR PUBLIC UNIVERSITIES HAVE TACO TRUCKS. But, before I dash your dreams to pieces, this taco truck does not sell dysentery with a side of  food poisoning. Actually, the food isn’t that bad. Now, I’m not sure it’s because I’ve gotten used to the sludge from the cafeteria or student center, and really this food is alive and planning Earth’s ultimate demise, but to my brainwashed mind, it’s not so bad.

But, naturally, the only way to walk up to a taco truck is to pretend to be on a voyage. Not just any voyage, but we were off to the coasts of Zanzibar, and we sold it to the cheap seats. As soon as the taco truck came into sight, I called out to Allie, who was mere inches away from me, “Look out on the horizon! Thar she blows! Land ho!”

To which Allie responded, “Drop the anchors, mateys! TONIGHT, WE DINE IN the vicinity a moderately price mobile Mexican food delicatessen.” This is why we are friends.

We have kept up our pirate attitudes since we left the taco truck. When washing my hands, I decided I needed more soap than usual, so I grimaced at the soap dispenser and pirated a few more pumps.

I really am living the life of excess.