tfw you'll never walk back from a productive day of class

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tfw you'll never walk back from a productive day of class on a blustery fall day, hand in hand with your girlfriend. you've been with her since high school and were so excited to go to college together. she's wearing a cozy gray sweatshirt and jeans. she pulls up the hood as the wind picks up, sending a cascade of leaves in your path; a delightful bouquet of red and orange.

you admire the brick institutions lining the road, hallowed houses of education that have been here for hundreds of years, here for yet another autumn. you converse lightly about today's lecture and muse that you haven't started your project yet. she hasn't either, and says she can't wait to get back to the dorms -- they're serving french onion soup for dinner today, her favorite.

it is only a few blocks back now. in the distance you hear the marching band rehearsing, the boom of the bass drums and the crack of the snares echoing off the buildings. familiar paradiddles and melodies twinkle in the setting sun. back in high school you were both in the band, and won a state championship together.

you're at the dining hall now, there's a bit of a line, but it is of no concern. after a lovely meal and bit of banter with classmates, you head back to her dorm. it is a spartan closet of a dwelling, but you helped her decorate with memories of home and high skies; the old black and gold proudly draped over a wall.

you nestle in bed together. you can still hear the wind whistling outside, but her and the blankets provide a sublime refuge. you turn on the telly, an old tube contraption her dad was keeping in the garage. game 1 of the nl pennant series is tonight; your boys from cincinnati against new york. it is a national broadcast with adequate pomp: renowned announcers and bright graphics packages on display. the lights are on in the ballpark, pushing back against the black night; the familiar diamond, the green grass, promising a few more hours of summertime.