Within the Hill School memorial chapel lies magnificent stained glass windows…countless oak pews where so many men and women have sat and contemplated the teachings of their gods and professors, along with the schools motto, “whatsoever things are true”, carved in stone high above the steel piping of the organ and lancet windows. So many hours have been spent inside this glorious building, listening to speeches by jocks, overachievers, underachievers, village idiots, and stoners making feeble attempts to piece together their pathetic lives by trying to make some sort of profound sense out of it all. I’m so sorry but talks about Martha Stewart, storytelling, and other people’s insecurities just don’t spark my fancy.
"Whos the chapel speaker today?"
"psh, some faggot who knows a girl, whos knows a guy, whos cousin committed suicide. And how the suicide truly effected their outlook on life and being an adolescent."