The Infamous

He is completely unorganized. He walks into the library with heavy feet. There is no need for me to turn around to know what is coming. His heavy feet slow to a stop adjacent to where I am sitting. I have no idea who he is, and I assume he has no idea who I am. With abrupt movements he unzips his backpack and throws his laptop on the table, the cord hits me in the arm and he says nothing. Despite appearing disorganized he seems very focused, staring intently at the blank computer screen; about an hour passes before he gets up and leaves, never once meeting my gaze. I continue to sit in the library, minding my own business and no longer than thirty minutes after the boy has left I hear the same heavy feet, the same walking pattern and the bright red shirt he wears comes into my peripheral vision. The only difference about our encounter this time is the fact that his old seat is now occupied. He looks confused as if the entire student body should be aware this seat at this particular table belongs to him. Without saying a word I hear him take that first step toward a new seat, same table just at the opposite end.