by Janey O'Mara
Copyright 2011 Janey O'Mara
I was getting up to leave class when the girl next to me said, "Say man, do you know where there's a post office around here?"
Heather was a hippie chick. She always had a vacant look in her eyes that made me question the quality of any college that would accept her as a student. Despite being as white as a glass of milk, she wore her hair in dreadlocks -- or at least they were supposed to be dreads, though it came off looking like she hadn't washed her hair in months. I don't think she owned an item of clothing that wasn't tie-dyed or made of hemp. And though she was always talking about how she didn't eat anything except nuts and grains, she tended towards the tubby side -- not quite fat, but she had lots to hold onto, if you know what I mean.
I'd never talked to her outside of class -- never really talked to her in class for that matter, except that one time we were assigned a group project together -- so I was a little surprised at her starting a conversation with me. As I slung my backpack over my shoulder, I said, "There's one in the student union in the village."