I want to be at a pub

I want to be at a pub, eating nachos. I'm sitting here reading journals from students in my class, and all I can do is fantasize about the satisfying crunch a nacho chip will make on its way into my mouth.

I would like the chips to be salty, cheesy, hot from the oven, with fresh tomatoes and green onions chopped up on top, and gobs of guacamole, sour cream, and salsa on the side. It's all I can think about.

I'd like to have Corona beer with my nachos. I'd like to be wearing elasticized pants and a sweatshirt. My friend across from me will be laughing and encouraging me to eat more and order another beer.

But instead, I force myself to open yet another journal and I read about Robert's favourite trip to Disneyland, and later about how Amy and Claudia are each other's best friends, and Gilbert's obsession with an on-line video game. The dishwasher swishes in the background behind me and there's a stack of exercise books piled in front of me, a quiet paper mountain.

Will someone please get me some more salsa?