Thoughts of Predecessors at the End of the First Day

She could picture them now: sitting in a dimly lit, hazy room, griping about so-and-so. They munch on cold-cut sandwiches while sipping stale coffee and make predictions about the future. Not their futures, but the futures of others, like who'll probably wind up in jail, enter an Ivy League school, or be pregnant by 15. They gripe about budget cuts and bitch that the new one is already on maternity leave. The pension better be worth it, they laugh before stubbing out their cigarettes and returning to their stack of papers.

She could picture them now as she stared at the twenty-five empty desks and floor littered with crayons and pencil shavings, her ears still ringing from the shrieks echoing through the hallways at dismissal. Too bad they no longer allow smoking in the teacher's lounge.