The sun had done it's job for the particular side of the world it had been drifting over, and was ready to call it a day.  With a brief nod, because it took forever to turn in, it bed the top of the sky goodnight, and started down it's long, but thankfully straight, path towards the horizon.  As it made its slow way across the sky, too tired to move any faster than the absolute minimum, it passed over a particular house, on a particular road, with a particular white picket fence, and bleached white paint job.<br/><br/>A young man whistled as he walked up the particular road towards the white house.  He was white, tall, and lanky like a pale baboon.  His long arms swung from front to back as he moved.  In one hand there was a plastic bag filled with books, and in the other there were even more books inside a back pack that had become too heavy to carry all the way from the bus to his house.  Despite the sun's nearness to the horizon, it was still hot.  The chest of his shirt was thick with perspiration.  "Almost there."  He mumbled as he stopped in front of the white picket gate, and pulled it open.<br/><br/>"Hey!"  He called as he walked up the driveway.  "I'm home."  Not that anyone would care.  He stopped in front of the door to pull out his keys.  He put it in the keyhole and pulled the door open.  Whoever had left last forgot to turn of the air, which was a blessing.  "Anyone here?"  He called as he dropped his bags and pulled off his shirt.  He closed the door, and then dropped his pants and underwear.  He tossed his clothes in a nearby sack and picked up his bags to take them to his room.<br/><br/>He dropped his books on his bag and looked at his watch.  "Almost lunch.  Everyone should be here soon."  He picked up a book and went to start reading in the living room.