Clad in a black cardigan contrasting against a tie dye t-shirt, his leg bounces, his pen clicks, and his brain ticks. A million thoughts and a million melodies are swimming around in the sea of his mind.

Seventh mod is always a stretch, but a pair of headphones can do away with the time. No matter the song or the album, he is given a constant outlet. An endless focus.

“I enjoy it. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

He knows that he can even become this outlet when he gets home. Strings on his fingertips, a rhythm in his hands, everything flowing out of his limbs.

“It’s relaxing. It acts as a good stress reliever in my life.”

And it doesn’t stop here. Later that same night he would join his friends. More strings, more rhythms, more drive.

One man joins and army, and together they are unstoppable. They don’t fight insurgents with their guns, they fight daily struggle with their voices, each a different timbre. All the while, they never stop smiling.

“It helps with my emotions, and it’s just a fun time. I enjoy it.”

Come 7 a.m. the next day he’ll begin another cycle with another song in his head ears. Mod. one, mod. two, so on and so forth, until that final bell rings again and his fingers will return home.

Most things in life are cyclic, even music. The continual call of melody will sound, and then he will have his words to say, steel to play, and feelings to define. He will be given respite, and then give others theirs.

He’s still looking at the screen though, a plethora of information washing over his eyes. Intimidating to most students, but he just keeps clicking. He’s really somewhere else. Somewhere in sound.