“What could they be thinking about? Gosh, these kids are so damn smart! Geniuses!” He looked at his son’s smile and excitement for life and almost winced, as if to say that such a visage could not possibly fit in here.
Yes, one might say, we are different, but being different doesn’t mean we’re any good.
From Wall Street to the Upper East Side and to the black Escalade which shuttled them to and fro, Ivy-League graduates from a time before the present returned to their alma mater.
Their cigarettes haphazardly dangle from the corners of their mouths as they launch verbal assaults in the hopes of gaining entrance — the hope to be just as they are, but under the safety of a ceiling.
MY EMAIL! I’M TALKING ABOUT THAT EMAIL THAT YOU APPARENTLY HAVE NOT SEEN AND MAYBE WILL NOT SEE.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
“I guess you could call me a Caligula,” she once said.
Upon returning to campus, I visited my old friend to dust off its smooth, vandalized sides and to caress it.
Basically, I was born to account. For things. And that’s why I transferred to Wharton.
“Econ is definitely on my mind right now. I don’t know, the whole study — the field itself — is so interesting to me, you know?”
“Wait, how many girls do you have with you?” *rips juul* “Eh…Take a lap, guys.”
I am MicKinsey's, and McKinsey's mine.
Pity us, noble Scene King, ruler of our lands. We worship you and would be honored to kiss the soles of your fucking overpriced shoes, worn simply to flex.
Listen, I’m not here to convince anyone since no one really agrees with my P.O.V., but, as I am here with a platform that can help aid my personal agendas, I say a second Pret is what this campus needs.
Spruce Street is her refuge, the path for those on this campus who crave a shred of anonymity. Protecting her from the sight of others, her Penn cap says it all: “yes, I’m a low-key bitch. And, you’re also right — I do go to Penn.”
It didn't have anything to do with the fact that I had a hard time finding an internship the summer before.
I enjoy how batshit scared all of you are of the cold — of a crispy, red leaf gently falling onto your Barbour coat.
Students dartied in their most festive gear, but no one came out stuntin’ harder than Wharton junior Derek Harthman.
Not only am I paying for writing sem — I also couldn't be paid Gutmnan's salary to complete my peer review by tonight.