Bengali Ritu My Morning Vlog mp4
Red pill or blue pill? ***** He must have picked the red pill because he was walking (staggering) down the hall towards his home room, a Starbucks clutched in his hand. ***** Third period was calculus… hopefully He was certainly looking at the title page of an open calculus book. What was the class before this one? It was… It was… At least this wasn’t the concussion talking, his memory always worked like this. Knee bounce… Toe tap… Now he was rubbing his head, not that he noticed. He rarely noticed the fidgeting. And then he stopped. That was her. It had to be her. It definitely looked like her hair. And her ear… maybe… well, he had actually never noticed her ear before, but it definitely could have been her right ear. This ear had three piercings: one in the lobe, and two in the upper ear. Mr. Nickolson was still droning. ‘Prove… speeding ticket… velocity… points… minimum speed…’ It didn’t make any sense. The bell rang. She was standing up and facing towards him to pick up her bag.. I let the clanking metal carry me down, feeling when to step off as the stairway flattened out. I could walk every step to my accustomed place on the platform with my eyes closed, though I’d never done it. And not tonight, either, my impatience forcing my pace. The Central Line train was soothing with its hums and hisses, and the impersonal recorded announcements. The woman’s voice was purged of anxiety, making every stop sound like an oasis of desire, a thrill of the chances waiting just beyond the ticket barriers. Holland Park then Notting Hill Gate. I ignored the alkies outside the station, unwilling to feed anyone’s addictions but my own. I walked along the quiet street, my hands deep in my coat pockets and my mind serenely empty. Then up the stairs to the door. Buzz number three on the intercom and wait. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘It’s me. You aren’t sleeping are you?’ The door buzzed open and I walked up the tiled stairs, once grand but now faded. Her flat door was already ajar and I.
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