My friend honks from his black BMW at a group of four underclassmen. Once he's got their full attention he flips them off and floors it. Fully insured with nothing better to do. "Junior year is a long ways from college" He quips. But even further away than junior high's tolerance for hormones and lack of identity by the faculty staff towards the children they halved, educating. Take my friend Tyler for instance. His parents pay people to ignore his total lack of manners and poor citizenship that he displays while carousing the campus. Without even the slightest interest in College. He will attend the best money has to buy. Without the know how on how to deal with complex problem solving and communication. He will become a lawyer, or politician. All the while stuck on cars, and bars, in need. He will marry and divorce three times, and seed four children into this world without so much as a hug kiss hello to fuel them along. He will graduate Magna Cum loudly and be the president of some elite fraternity he'll vaguely recall at forty-three. With a boat he's never seen and a summer house that sits empty all year long. He'll charge us all by the hour while checking his watch more often than his capacity to make a difference can in power one to actually be 'different'. Row upon row of dark suits and patent leather shoes adorn a walk in closet the size of a studio apartment. An accountant and trust fund to keep his oral gleam. & More air miles on hand than an Asian diplomatic envoy. He'll be golfing while you're commuting traffic. Void of all that day-to-day havoc. He'll be drinking his long island ice tea. While you're longing for any old island at Sea. Skin deep with no love of his own, to keep. Near the end he'll try to recover what's too far gone, but with no one left to miss him that last bridge he'll cross will span the emptied contents of all he ever claimed was that far beneath him. Deep, cold, and troubled waters. Missed by no sons. Loved by no daughters.