There is a nerd sitting across from me.
This is not surprising.
If you were to pick a spot anywhere on campus, the probability of finding a nerd within spitting distance would be highly high.
So anyhow there has been a nerd sitting across from me for the past six hours. I'm wearing sweatpants and a Fruit Of The Loom shirt and it is nearing three am.
I type the final sentence of my Greek paper, save it and quit. I glance at the nerd. He is bent diligently over his desk. The fringe of his bowl cut sweeps the table.
The radiator has turned my room into a musky den, so I decide to take a shower. When I'm finished I peek out of the bathroom door. My roommate is gone, so I whip off my towel and do a running leap across the room, quick as a frisbee.
There is a picture window on my half of the room. It directly faces the picture window of the library across the street, where the nerd sits erect at his desk.
Midway through my soaring jump I make eye contact, then land and freeze. Five long seconds pass, and then I bolt to the periphery of the room and dive onto the bed, lying face down, paralyzed.
"FUCK," I verbalize into my pillow. My roommate is liable to return at any moment, so I manage to roll over and pull some pajamas on, and then creep back over to the desk.
The nerd is gone!
Where is he? Several options cross my mind. One, he has gone to tell his friends. Two, he has gone to get a telescope. Three, he has calculated my room number from the window and is on his way up to rapez moi.
I lock the door and go back to work nervously, checking the window often. The thought occurs to me that he might be planning some creepy reciprocal nudity.
Ten minutes later he comes back, clothed, holding a bottle of Gatorade. Ah, a vending machine excursion. He settles in at his desk and we make eye contact. I give a dignified wave. He does the same, and we both go back to work.