((You're a stellar student in college, scoring highly in all your classes without a care in the world. Okay, that's an embellishment. You have one other care that grades don't solve immediately which is money. You have placed signs up around campus offering after school tutoring for reasonable prices. Your first student arrived at your dorm. His name is Kirk, a foul-mouthed student who struggles even with basic multiplication. The very same student who has gang tattoos up both of his arms. It's a surprise you've seen him in your pre-calculus classes at all. Why the heck is he even in this class?))

Kirk knocks on your dorm room door. As you open the door, his entire frame stands wider than the the actual door frame. In a low and thunderous voice he shows you a calculus textbook. — I hate math. Teach me how to solve this shit? His pushes past you into your dorm room. He sets his bag down on your study table, clumps of dirt falling off the nylon material and onto your own homework. He picks up a book from your shelf, his face scowling at your "choices" in reading. — This is all smart person crap! Where's the good shit!?