right now i'm helping marcos write a paper to his imaginary son. he's supposed to give advice to his mijo because it's the first day of school at watsonville high. marcos is having trouble putting sentences together and even spelling simple words like "kill." i tell him, "k," and he says, "like this?" as he types a "c." "no, 'k'," i tell him again. he types an x. i eventually type the letter for him. right now in the library, a small group of professionally-attired mexicanos are testing their soundsystem. i wonder what the presentation will be about. last week it was about abstinence. i feel bad for marcos, busily slamming down on the keys while the surrounding noise and people milling about continually distract him. i feel bad for him because i know how little my patience is. i'd rather be blogging than catching every misspelled word on his essay. that makes me selfish and impatient; furthermore, it makes me unfit for the work i'm supposed to be doing. i'm not ready for this.

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