"Oh Spinoza, what have they done to you?" you ask. He looks up at you, bitterness in his eyes. For one second, there is connection between man and beast, and then you understand. "Freshmen. Freshmen did this to you, Spinoza."

 You want to reach out to him and tell him that you understand, but he runs away to someone else who could better provide him with material things, perhaps supper and a warm bath. You feel his pain, but you're hurt too. Stupid. How could you express hatred towards one so far superior to yourself? With a respectful nod to Spinoza, you walk into the distance.

 You've been playing the hero role all night. In your martyrdom, you ate at Bon Appétit. You fended off Worcester natives with a fork. You suffered for your art. You offered empathy and shelter to one who you believed was in need. What did you get for it? Criticized and hurt. You literally got your blood sucked out.

 You decide to give into your deepest, darkest anti-social desires. The wheels slowly start to spin and you formulate a plan. Going back to your dorm, you put a tea kettle on the range. Then you slip on a pair of gloves that oh-so-resemble OJ's, and pull the fire alarm. You run quickly, looking in every possible direction, and leap into the nearest shower stall. Good thinking, huh? When it's safe to come out of the water, you look out the window. No one is leaving the building. You glance at your watch. It's 10:08 on a Friday night. You come to the sudden realization that you are the only one in the dorm.

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