The winds changed this morning. Sweeping low across the ocean, they cover the campus in the smell of seaweed and salt. A seagull cackles as it soars by. Finals week is upon us and the campus is blanketed in a quiet energy. Studying becomes urgent, bleary-eyed students emerge from the library where they've been all night, the coffee line becomes immense. Emergency study groups are being formed. Social interaction has died in the span of just a few days. We're cramming.
And the air smells of the sea. It's called perfection.
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