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Nuro Alston
May 7th, 2008, 09:16:59 PM
Steve Biko (Stir it Up)


http://tn3-1.deviantart.com/fs11/300W/i/2006/213/0/b/dorm_2_by_leidenschaftlic.jpg

Art work riddled the wall.

Lit candles brought the abstract and cubic graphics to light. A silence tried to take the room, but sound came from a pecuilar device. Most teens had one of their own, but that fact did not make it any less unusual to the foreign eye. The muffled vibration eased from the headphones, while soft fingers swivel over the contraption. World renowned, and especially useful, the device was called a...

...iPod.

An iPod is a mandatory amongst some, especially the youngsters of America, a long with a cell phone and a myspace account. Stored with seemingly endless amount of music files, days could go by with one click of a button. Gigabytes upon gigabytes housed stolen goods from the internet, downloaded a long the lines of Limewire and another programs with a gleeful grin, or ignorant gaze. Ignorant, simply because the absent-mindness to the effects one had on the world with the quick double-click. The world had greatly changed in the time of a single generation, and most of the youth seemed to completely unaware of the evolution abound.

There are disadvatanges and advatanges to everything. Perspective is a key component to finding those negatives and positivies though, but few could argue that this artsy listener in his dorm room on Cullen Institute was anything less than a plus. The equation's sum was clear from his jovial grin, unkept locks, all the way down to his joyous muse with the playing song.

Who cared if he had got it illegally, he was happy, right?

The 18 (soon-to-be 19) year old, (handsome) black, "special" student sat up in his bed, books stacked to the side with a notepad in his lap. Obviously, with his school-books shut, he wasn't doing any classwork, but his hands were moving feveriously.

Every stroke of the pen brought new ink to the pad, before dropping down to the next line like an enter key had been pressed. Small headphones dangled at his neck as the sounds of Midnight Marauders by A Tribe Called Quest eased his mind. Lyrics of his own were being written by the little artist, but what truly kindled his spirits was his half-eaten apple by his bed-side near his candles. An incense flavored the room with cinnamon, but the door wasn't shut.

Although he had just been transferred from his college here, he wondered if anybody had any interest in peeking in. He kept the door in, hoping that he wouldn't be stuck in the room exploring his artistic side...alone. Yet, it was no big deal - he could be lost in his lil universe forever. There hadn't been anybody else assigned to the room, so he didn't have any distractions yet. Nothing was in his room but his stuff and a piece of paper held by some tape on the door reading...

..."Noru Alston".