I wanted nothing to do with my father's press conference. So I hide myself in the cleaning staff's break room. I sat on one of the dingy plastic chairs with a glass of water on the floor next to me. I sighed and looked up at the ceiling of the room. "I wonder what makes the privileged run away from the privileged." Said a voice. Standing there was an old man, a janitor. His kind eyes crinkled with laughter. "I don't know." I told him. "But what ever it is, it makes me run."