The Friday Ketchup


You look at the clock and it reads 3:00 AM. A crumpled-up candy wrapper sits to the side of your textbook. I don’t remember anything of the last ten pages I’ve read, you think to yourself. Maybe it would be better for you to go to sleep at this point. Surely a few hours of rest would do you better than to keep studying. I’ll just close my eyes for a minute, you say, then I’ll be able to finish this up. You look back at the clock. 9:30 AM. You’re late for the test. You rush to put on your clothes and run out the door. A few minutes later you arrive at the classroom, out of breath and sweaty. The professor hands you the test along with a stern look of disapproval. You take a seat and turn to the first page of the exam. You can’t believe it. This isn’t what you’ve been studying for at all. Your head starts swimming and you begin to feel nauseous. The prompt sits on the page mocking you. It’s the Friday Ketchup.

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