I’m not sure how I’ve made it this far. Not that I’m successful, or happy, or have achieved anything. On days like this, when the sky is pale blue and the air feels like frost, and the autumn canopies arouse a melancholic nostalgia that sticks in my throat, I’m just surprised that I’m still here. I take a long, hungry drag from my menthol cigarette. The smoke mixes with the October air and fills my lungs; it feels clean, satisfying. The bench I sit on is frosted with a fine layer of ice, and it slowly melts into my jeans. I’ve put ‘In the Sun’ by Joseph Arthur on repeat on my phone as I watch the blur of strangers walk by from this campus bench. Some walk in groups of three, linking arms, heads bowed against the cold. Here, a boy on a skateboard weaves between those coming from their 9 a.m. lectures; next, a young girl in a blue beanie buys a coffee ...