A layer of the summer night's warmth embraces your face as you exit the air conditioned confines of your Malibu Max. You swing the car door adjacent to the driver's seat shut, releasing a soft sigh and grimacing after a long and exhausting day of scholarly persuits. An old three pouch back pack hangs from a strap off of your shoulder. Shifting slightly, the strap slides up closer to your neck, relieving you a bit from the dull pain put on from the pressure of the three hard covered course books inside your pack.
Sauntering down the dirt path that leads to your parent's porch, you are serenaded by the chirps of the crickets that surround your two story farm house. You pay no mind to the beautiful canvas of stars above, your mind set on relaxing in the comforts of your home. You carry yourself up the the three wooden stairs that leads to your bleach painted porch. Following the two paralell railings on the top platform, you unlock your door with your house key and proceed inside.
There is no luxury sweeter on a summer's night then central air. You can't help but bite your bottom lip and fondly gasp at the chilling air that blankets your skin. Briefly glancing to your left, you spot yourself in the long bodied mirror near your front door.
You stand 6 foot tall, your skin tanned from exposure to the sun. Your hair is cut short, raven black, and your eyes are hazel green. Your attire consists of a pair of dull khaki shorts and a black an white striped polo shirt. Your name is Demetri Larson, you are twenty-one years of age and you are living with your parents. You go to college at a small community institute and live in a southern Michigan farm home a few miles from a lake community.
Your back pack lets out a thump as you drop it in the corner of your white carpeted living room. A yawn escapes you, followed by a slight struggle to keep your eyes open. You've had a busy day, and with the assignments given today, you're looking to a busier one tomorrow. Looking to the the T.V set do you..
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