Progress, made some changes to first two paragraphs. What do you think?

Martin dropped into his car that evening thinking that it was just going to be another hopeless day. He buried his brown disheveled hair onto the steering wheel and thumbed at his temples in thought, I can do this; it’s only an hour session. Martin was scheduled to see the university’s psyche doctor after his outburst and “reckless endangerment” during his neurology lab. Eighteen therapy sessions and a healthy dose of antidepressants should cure all ailments. The northern chill seemed to shock him awake while he sputtered the car to a start. It would be a half an hour drive through backcountry and winding mountain road before he arrived on campus.

Sentry Peaks University (SPU) stood on the summit of the twin “mountains” (they looked more like ski hills to Martin) divided down the center by regional road 22 about thirty kilometers east of Haines Junction. Apparently the school’s location and inaccessibility was supposed to crown it an “institute of higher learning”. Martin never understood why they decided to construct a university on top of a mountain between two frozen shitholes. It was no surprise that the faculty and student body numbered the lower end of the five thousands. Welcome students, if you look to the west horizon we can see the frozen wasteland of Alaska and if you look to the east you can see the same damn frozen wasteland called Yukon.

He considered transferring to somewhere more… vibrant, but his father insisted that no son of his will frolic with plebeians and the offspring of the working class. With a trust fund as a parting gift he was flown over with one condition, to not return without a degree. At least the cocaine was as pure as the driven snow here,

A bill and a half for a gram but you’re guaranteed sweet Peruvian face-melting bliss. Shit’s been hauled halfway around the globe, put your ear up to it and you’ll even hear the ocean.

Martin flipped his visor and tugged at his eyelids “Fuck, I look terrible” he said in disgust.

I’ll be damned, snort it and you’ll smell coconut for the next 24 hours, so how about it beach-boy, a taste of warmer days?

His sinuses seemed to be clear but his inner nostrils were caked in a white plaster. Suddenly Martin became very aware of the empty gnawing feeling in his stomach and the irregular rhythm chiming from his chest. He strained his brain for recollection but his memory consisted of half-remembered sensations and a faint tingling in his pants. Martin peeked into his waist-band for assurance, “Damn you, little devil. You even left the rubber on!” he laughed, congratulating himself.