Max yawned behind the book steepled precariously on his face, light blue eyes opening to stare impassively up at the creamy white pages less then an inch away for a few seconds before closing along with an exhaling of air from his mouth - an melancholy sigh, if you would dare to call it such.
The day was a beautiful breath of spring, a pleasant chance from the normal weather - not quite warm, the kind that had everyone was outside exclaiming over the weather they'd forgotten was possible during the long winter months that seemed to stretch on forever. Max yawned again, the book becoming even more unbalanced and toppling off onto the ground still cold from the recently departed snow.
He took this as a wakeup call, sitting up and running a hand absent-mindedly through his disheveled black hair. He was wearing a rather baggy shirt, with what he assumed was the name of some band stamped brazenly across the front. It was thin, scratchy, and altogether the most uncomfortable thing he'd ever worn. It was, without a doubt, the evil incarnate.
He was also wearing a less evil pair of stained cargo pants, and a ratty pair of sneakers neither good nor bad. But at least they were comfortable, he reasoned, glancing around boredly at the masses of students out to savor the sunshine.
Today, he decided, with feeling, could only get worse; unless, of course, it got better. He sincerely and utterly doubted it would, however - he simply didn't have that sort of luck.
He yawned again, because he felt like it; thought about standing up and decided against it. No, he would sit a few minutes, in hopes that something halfway interesting would fall into his lap. He leaned back against the oak tree he'd been sleeping under, cracking his knuckles thoughtfully.
The day was a beautiful breath of spring, a pleasant chance from the normal weather - not quite warm, the kind that had everyone was outside exclaiming over the weather they'd forgotten was possible during the long winter months that seemed to stretch on forever. Max yawned again, the book becoming even more unbalanced and toppling off onto the ground still cold from the recently departed snow.
He took this as a wakeup call, sitting up and running a hand absent-mindedly through his disheveled black hair. He was wearing a rather baggy shirt, with what he assumed was the name of some band stamped brazenly across the front. It was thin, scratchy, and altogether the most uncomfortable thing he'd ever worn. It was, without a doubt, the evil incarnate.
He was also wearing a less evil pair of stained cargo pants, and a ratty pair of sneakers neither good nor bad. But at least they were comfortable, he reasoned, glancing around boredly at the masses of students out to savor the sunshine.
Today, he decided, with feeling, could only get worse; unless, of course, it got better. He sincerely and utterly doubted it would, however - he simply didn't have that sort of luck.
He yawned again, because he felt like it; thought about standing up and decided against it. No, he would sit a few minutes, in hopes that something halfway interesting would fall into his lap. He leaned back against the oak tree he'd been sleeping under, cracking his knuckles thoughtfully.