by Richard James Hazel
He had been dreaming of programming. Syntaxes, arguments, and logic still cluttered his mind as he awoke and became reacquainted with his surroundings. Eyes scanning the tiny dorm room, he slowly catalogued his meager belongings. Everything appeared to be in its proper place. Standing, he stretched, working the night’s stiffness from his muscles. The sun was just beginning to rise outside, causing the buildings across the quad to be silhouetted by a brilliant orange glow from behind.
He crossed the room and checked the calendar on his desk. There were no scheduled classes for the day, meaning he would spend the bulk of this Tuesday laboring at his internship at the larg...
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