CAMERON BYRON ROBERTS

He sat imagining a gate for a faraway city in the Saudi Arabian desert, taking some blocks of foam and crumpled yellow tracing paper, perhaps looking for the diaphanous quality of chain link.

We mounted the bus as we always did, sliding into our assigned places. Seating was stratified, the farther back, the more superior one’s status. I was usually able to get pretty far back, but not so far back as to be anywhere near the ninth-grade girls.

At the end of the semester, Hog Farm came to the campus and set up a carnival on the baseball field.