The new professor yanks down a white projector screen. The screen is a shade so blank, it never be found in nature. Digital images flash unnaturally on that screen, sending my head reeling again and again. The new professor uses a laser pointer to lecture, so he never rises from his pallid, metallic chair. But, his potbelly jiggles like gelatin as it strains through his pasty, polystyrene suit. 

Behind my wan desk are bleached shoes and unpigmented papers. In front, girls with ivory nails whip out iPhones with colorless cases.

How I miss the old blackberry-black chalkboard peeking out from under dust and white screens. How I miss the sunny yellow chalk dust which smelled like freedom and tree bark. How I miss the old professor who gestured so animatedly in his ocean-blue t-shirt. 

How I miss my friends before they bought white shoes and white phones.

How I miss chalkboard society.