The date was January 23, 2001; waking up at 8 am for class was every college student s nightmare. My roommate Kenny s eyes were still half shut, my vision blurred, and his hand still numb from sleeping on it all night long. Somehow he built up enough strength to swing his hand softly to tap the snooze button on my ever so loud alarm clock in hopes for the alarm never to sound again. Seven minutes later, waking again to the most annoying buzzing sound on earth. The plan failed, the alarm didn t break, and is now buzzing boisterously straight in his face. The air in the room was probably a chill 40 degrees, the heater not running, and the outside cold just soaking in through the windows.
Not wanting to leave his bed because it s so warm and soft, he rolled off the bed hoping not to smash his face off the floor on the landing. As Kenny slowly arose from the floor all he felt was cold, still not able to see straight he stumbles into the heap of clothing beside my dresser. He slipped on the damp shoes from last night s shower and headed to the bathroom. As he walked threw the crowed hall, Kenny bumped shoulders and exchanged dirty faces with our neighbors. Still not familiar with the whole concept of light, he walked into the bathroom when he got a rude awakening from the lights on the mirrors and ceiling. At that time it was just like looking into a spotlight.
Now squinting he did his morning deeds, and headed back to the room. He came to our room, and saw that I was already awake and off to class. So Kenny started to fix his tangled bed, then organized everything that he could get his hands on (except my stuff of course).
The Homework on My Favorite Room Window Bed Work
My room is my favorite place. The floor of my room is a golden brown carpet. A beige rug covers a small portion of the floor next to my bed. In an array of gloss and semi-gloss, shades of off-white cover these four walls. Entire sections are hidden by nearly a dozen posters of comic book characters, girls, or athletes. Along the top section of my wall I have my eight-teen hats. My room is about 10 ...
Then he walks over to the heater gives the switch a good flick, then the cold little cell we call our room started to warm up. Grabbing a miniature orange juice, Kenny starts to grab his books and things for class. Ripping his keys off the hook beside his closet he opens the door, while chugging back his orange juice he pulls the door shut and locks it.
With a quick push to make sure it s locked, he heads down the hallway to the steps, starting to stroll down the steps it starts to get colder and colder. Next thing he knows and he s at the door pushing it open to the cold winter air. Walking on the cigarette and ash remains from last night he gets to the sidewalk, and starts his venture for the day.
