A fellow student and I had a little adventure: got on the train, navigated the city on our own, bought Auntie Anne's pretzels.
We sat in the corner of Drexel's basement Writing Center and read through manuscripts, discussing what we should think about when choosing yes, no, or maybe. We learned quickly and got started, marveling at the stacks of unopened manila envelopes teetering in his office. It's weird to think that next year one of them will become a book that you could hold in your hands, complete with cover art and a spine waiting to be broken in.
On the train ride home, we dreamed about staying on campus through July 1 (when the process ends). Something idyllic (and perhaps causing the men and women commuting home from work on the express train to think of us as cliche): reading manuscripts out loud in the outdoor amphitheater, discussing poetry, cooking our own meals.
Turns out there's no partial summer housing on campus. Students who are specifically working at the college get first preference. And no air conditioning. Ugh.
Maybe we'll house sit for some professor.