There is a school for kids not tailored for the regular system located by the new Starbucks. There are those who want to learn but have trouble doing it the traditional way, and there are those who are enrolled because it is forced on them. Frequently, small gaggles of these teens walk the sidestreets or lounge on the grass, smoking. As I cruise past I try not to judge harshly as I too, once lounged on grasses smoking instead of sitting bored in a classroom.
A week or so ago, I drove past a group of red-eyed sneering boys. They smirked at my car and then one of them raised his arm. A flash of a red laser managed to find my left eye. Whether coincidence or consequence that eye has been misbehaving to the extent that dark rooms and cool cloths are my only solace.