writing class narration

sunday dress boy's voice gets louder and louder the more he wants to prove his point. he's yelling at the class right now. yelling how artists can't just say there is a meaning unless there is some evidence of it. bullshit. i'll paint whatever i want and say it means whatever i feel it means. if i paint a tree and say it represents my mother, it sure as hell represents my mother. whether YOU see it or not.

i feel bad for red head ben. he fell asleep and was drawn on. i wouldn't feel as bad if his face hadn't turned bright red and his hand never left his face. arcs. now he sits there and tries to rub off the sharpie half-mustache, and the teacher talks about him as if he weren't there listening. "i've always told everyone not to fall asleep in class. thats what he gets for falling asleep."