Twenty-two

Miranda’s foot was tapping against the tiled floor in anticipation, and she kept ringing her hands over and over again. The receptionist, a man who seemed far nicer that Cara, had asked her to wait in one of the student areas. It wasn’t far from the Professor’s offices. The space was filled with squishy chairs and beanbags, along with the normal computer desks. There was even a small kitchenet at the back wall where students could make a hot drink or microwave their food.

Thursday evening was student night in this city. That basically meant that all the bars and clubs were open with promotions for its binge drinking patrons. As a result, a lot these university scholars would be back at their halls swigging their pres. Miranda wondered if they even still called them pres anymore. The students that were in this space, were eyeing her with interest. She clearly wasn’t a student. You only had to compare their casua