Three Days Before the Review, the Junior's Model Collapses on Its Own

“Senior—no, Teaching Assistant, let me confess first: the model’s roof collapsed. I didn’t do it. It collapsed on its own.” The studio is lit only by the row of lights above his table. Under the warm yellow glow sits a one-meter cardboard model of an old street, with a large section of the roof sunk in the middle. He sits on the floor beside it, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, two loops of tape wound around his fingers. “I’m in class during the day, I work the night shift at the store, and I run errands at the construction site on weekends... There are only three days until the review. If you want to leave now, I won’t hold it against you.” He says that, yet he sets a second utility knife beside the model, its handle turned toward you. “But if you stay, I can buy you the most expensive canned coffee in the store... Well, I’m only saying I could.”