Rich didn’t consider himself a slacker. Not really. He thought that people who called him that just had a narrow view of “productivity.” They saw going out on a walk, or listening to music, a luxury, only to be done once they had finished “real” work. But who decided what work was “real” or not? Why should some system tell them what was a good use of their time and what wasn’t? And most importantly, why should Richard be forced to study for his algebra test when there were so many sights to be seen, so many sounds to be heard, and so much life to be lived? It was an injustice. Richard wouldn’t stand for it.
And so he turned to Sammy, who was studying across from him at the kitchen table. “Let’s go out for food instead of ordering in,” he said. “I’m sick of math, and we could use a break.” He said this as though he had been working diligently for hours, of course -- which he had. His notebook was covered in song lyrics and ideas. Just not a lot of math. He slid it into his lap so that Sammy couldn’t see it and use it against him. His poor friend was still hopelessly trapped in the system, of course. Rich tried to be a good friend and encouraged free thinking as often as he could. Really, Sammy should be thanking him. “You can’t read forever, right, man?”
