“WE ALL LIVE IN A YELLOW SUBMARINE, A YELLOW SUBMARINE, A YELLOW SUBMARINE,”
He races down the hallway singing; the lunch box in his hand crashing into doors as he passes.His light up shoes glow red and orange and leave obnoxious rubbery marks on the floor and squeak loudly at each step. His hair is long, barely combed, and curly because his mother has a very lax view on child rearing. In fact, she even lets him pick out his own clothes, which explains the pink daisy on his shirt and the mismatching socks. You can see a pattern of teachers curiously peering out of the classrooms, then nodding disapprovingly, in his wake. He never stops to take a breath, but when he gets to the drinking fountain he unscrews the hose and turns the spigot until it bursts from the faucet in a powerful rainbow of water. He giggles mischievously, then races on to do whatever he pleases.