He sat in his cheap plastic foldout chair, both his cap and gown weighing as heavy as lead. He held the soft navy-blue certificate cover tight in his hands, his thumbs leaving deep imprints.
He had no interest in opening it up to get a glimpse at his diploma. He knew there wasn’t one in there.
He looked over at his parents sitting in the enthusiastic crowd, bursting with pride. Immigrants who scraped and saved to secure him a college education. The first one in their family.
If only he had taken his last year on campus seriously.
If only…
The Weekday One Hundred 