While it wasn't the easiest to make Ashvin dig onions in the patch of green adjacent to the school building, under the circumstances he decided that the chore would puncture his ego with slightly less severity than an objection was threatening to. The classic routine of lavatory-cleaning failed to suit his tastes. It was not quite unknown to Ashvin that all that stood between him and that last straw was a long-distance phone call from his father to the principal. That detail failed to cheer him up. This austere school building, with its hollow corridors, nightly shadows creeping across dorm ceilings, the repressed, soulless boys, the pasty-faced brothers, the maudlin pastor, angels, saints, choir practices, prayers at ungodly hours, above all Jesus fucking Christ... the entire freakshow disgusted the hell out of his thirteen-year-old self.
And as if perching on the rear wall during recess and making a detailed yet appreciative study of the chicks from the sister school next door was even a bad thing!
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Yes, yes, I know... don't kill me. I've been running very low on both time and imagination, but uhm... Such Base (and Humourless) Trickery Shall Not Be Repeated, yes?
