Surreal Estate

Terri sat among twenty other people desiring to become real estate agents at Florida School of Real Estate. It was their first day of class. Students ranged from 18 to 65 years old. To Terri's right sat Ray. He had a gold incisor and a bald, tattooed head. He offered Terri Adderall at a 'really good' price. To Terri's left sat an older man wearing shorts and a t-shirt. His arms, here and there, were wrapped in gauze. Terri steadily inched away from him. Ray jiggled his little bag of Adderall at her. The three women seated in front of Terri were dressed for tennis and drenched in perfume dense enough to taste. The teacher arrived. He made a general announcement not to park in the faculty parking spaces or we'd be towed off, and if any of us were felons we were ineligible to take this licensing course. Felons? How many felons could there be in one, random real estate class? Turns out seven, which is how many people got up and left. Including one of the scented, tennis players. Terri remained seated with the non-felonious, thinking this is surreal. She just didn't know how surreal until she listed an iconic Palm Beach mansion and discovered Mar a Lago wasn't the only greed and corruption filled estate on the block.