Crossroads
"So, 45, what do you think?" Sitting right opposite me, peeping from behind his Macbook, Mr. B put the question to me. His almost round head resembled a lot like that of Agatha Christie's Poirot minus the mustache. His bespectacled eyes and the stubbled face accompanied by his calm voice and clear baritone, his funny colored socks, immaculate clothes, and shoes made him something someone with my taste would take a moment to admire. And oh, the resemblance between him and the late Chester Bennington was spookily uncanny. Every day we would sit in the classroom, huddled at a table and discuss literature. For a bookworm, a fan of fiction and a follower of all things art, being there was like a dream come true for me. We’d discuss books, movies, TV shows as well the grand shit-show running out there. One moment we’d be talking about Louis CK and the other, Jon Stewart. One morning would be about how much Mr. B was like Dr. House and the other about how men getting harass...