The wrought iron gates of the private academy that possessed such a prestigious looking emblem adorning its center were a tad intimidating, yes. But, at some point, a Mr. Kirkland had evolved and come to accept that they were not being altered into any more a friendlier form in the near future. Such was life, and such was his residence of employment.
A gaggle of schoolgirls giggle excitedly as he passes by, though he’s learned to pay that fact little mind nowadays. His only interest is attending to his job so he may better educate those who so ardently desire to learn.
When he opens the door to his classroom, Mr. Kirkland sees something scrawled across the whiteboard.
Or perhaps it’s just so he can pay the rent.