He had decided to get a part-time job. There was a job fair going on today and he wasn’t sure he wanted to go, but he knew he probably should. His bank account had taken a hit moving up here, and besides, having no job wasn’t quite the Shangri-la that he had hoped it might be. Everybody else was busy during the day, and he was left to himself. As soon as they got home, he was itching to do something, so he would call, or stop by. He knew that he was probably getting annoying, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed people around him and things to do during the day.

The few days of camping had been great; hanging out with people during the day, and no one was worried about what time it was, or whether they had to go somewhere, or do something. He had been spending a lot of time in the library these past few days, reading magazines, drifting off into daydreams, thinking. There was a time when that would have sounded like the ideal life, but there was something missing-he needed some sort of goal to aim toward. He wasn’t researching for a newspaper article or writing a paper for school, and at first that hadn’t bothered him.

He pulled a grey polo shirt from the ball of warm clothes in the middle of his bed and spread it out. He brushed his hand over the shirt. It was still covered in little black streaks, and this was the second time he had washed it. The pants too, probably. He pulled them out. Shit.