we're going to make a statement that we're against it.

i kicked my roommate out of the bathroom this morning. i really had to go. he had his pink towel wrapped around him, face half-shaved, lathered with cream. i was apologetic, and he understood. a few minutes later, he said he didn't want to drive today. "i think i'm gonna ride today. i'm low on gas, and i kind of want to get back in the habit..." i said that it was fine, and chose to ride my bike myself. i made myself a pb&j with two measly pieces of milton's bread, the end pieces, and smashed it together to fit into the front pocket of my canvas bag. i think, at this point, glenn and i are subconsciously trying to starve the other out. right now, our fridge has two cartons of soy milk, one carton of o.j., moldy cheese, a pack of tortillas, an onion, mustard, ketchup, soy sauce, and barbecue sauce. our cupboards have even less. two days ago, glenn's friend gomez spilled a 40 somewhere in the living room, so a stench of steel reserve has been nicely preserved.

right now mr. cramer is reading some poem by w.d. snodgrass to his class. he asked me if it was pronounced pultzer or pulitzer. "pulitzer," i said. then he wanted to know about iambic pentameter, which i had mentioned to the class a few weeks ago. i explained that it's a kind of way to write poetry, but there are other kinds. "i'll talk about it with you later," he said.

i wish i was outdoors somewhere. some place open, like the hech-hechee (sp?) reservoir, or yosemite valley. a place that isn't so stuffy, a place where a man can breathe.

"who wrote all the textbooks in the 50's?" cramer asks. no answer. "what ethnic group wrote most of the textbooks?" "white people," someone calls out.

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