The fine arts cafeteria hums with low chatter and the occasional clatter of trays, the smell of oil paint lingering in the air no matter how many times they scrub the floors. I stare at the food counter, dazed.
I end up with a rice bowl and iced tea—comfort food, low effort. My tray feels heavier than it should as I make my way to a corner table by the windows. The sunlight hits the table like a spotlight, dust dancing in the air around it.
Before I even eat, I do something stupid. I reinstall Instagram. The loading screen spins slowly, as if giving me one last chance to turn back. I don't. I wait patiently while I start to eat the rice bowl.
