Finals

There was no one else there when Rock showed up for his final in a communications class, so he sat alone on the steps in front of a modern brick classroom building on the eastern edge of the University of Arkansas campus in Fayetteville.
He knew he had screwed up. He had gone to one day of the class, months earlier, and remembered the professor emphasized the importance of one particular chapter in the textbook, but Rock had not once opened his book to that or any other chapter.
While waiting for other classmates and the professor, Rock in an instant realized he was midway through the final round of a golf tournament. His caddie told him that he led by one stroke. He faced an eight-inch putt for par but lost control of his putter and nudged the ball forward an inch. As he leaned his head back in frustration, his putter once again tapped the ball. A seemingly certain par was now a double bogey.
"Well, I guess we're going to need a couple of birdies," Rock said.
Many others had shown up for the test, and Rock was no longer interested in golf. Most of his fellow students were Little Rock Hashers. A sportswriter named Robert Yates was also there, and Rock overheard someone ask him what person at the paper covered Arkansas-Pine Bluff. "Oh, it's a guy named Frankie, but he doesn't do much," Yates said. "I heard someone complaining about that in Fort Smith this morning. I'm about to do a story on their football team."
As Robert spoke, a woman sat on the steps and began to urinate in a stream so strong it reached the building, twenty feet away.