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We called him mental case. His parents abandoned him on moving day. They didn't even help the hapless boy carry stuff into the dorms. He'd polish stones a lot. Other days he'd read books by a tall glass tank and feed crickets to his tarantula. Sometimes mostly at night I'd hear his bedsprings creaking like he was engaging in sexual intercourse, but he always slept alone. I'd frequently witness him carry out full black bags of trash. The wet sugary foods he must've ingested every day soaked through the dark liner bottoms, leaving a slimy trail ants slurped at hours afterward. I chalked up this proclivity for sweets to why he was conspicuously overweight. Worse, he smelled like fish sticks always. He was our floormate. I'm not sure why he did what he did . . . we're all different.
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