Dear Poppy Seeds,

You know, going to the financial aid office is exactly like going to the psychiatrist. You say two words, you hand them some papers that will never make any sense, they swivel around to their computer screen, they look something up in a huge binder on a tall shelf, ask you some personnel questions they should already know the answer to. And then the situation is totally fixed, well, for now, hard to believe considering they had their back to you the whole time. Then you go down another hallway to talk to the person who really understands you, but who can't really fix anything at the moment, but promises he will, just hang in there.

Then life finds you soaking wet in the parking lot, and friend boy is sleeping soundly in the four door civic. "Hi".

And those charcoal chicken delights taste so good in a storm.

~Skin and Toast