![]() And he’s the only dope susceptible to me. But would that professor have picked me? Fortunately, the resident poet feels duty bound to fondle the freshmen, and I’m the only dope so far who has been susceptible to his paunch and poetry. ![]() I could have picked a less paranoid professor. The image of my cozy self in a soft puddle of smoky lamplight grieves me. I huddle under the tree and wish myself back in bed with a book and an inexhaustible supply of cigarettes. I forgot to ask what kind of car he drives. I stand behind a tree until it disappears up the long driveway to the college. No shapes around them, only blackness, and the moonless dark on me and around me. The lights from the dormitories and the dining hall glow on the hill. ![]() I can feel the thin mud of powder on my forehead and cheeks beginning to slide. My mascara is running into the pouches beneath my eyes. Who does he think would see us? Or care? I consider going back to my room and making a sign to hold up at passing cars: “ I AM WAITING TO SCREW MR. Impress him with my discretion, my knowledge of the surreptitious. I don’t really care whether I’m seen or not, but I do plan to emerge mysteriously when he drives up. Every time lights show on the road, I jump behind a tree or crouch beside one of the cold parked cars. ![]() ![]() At his request, I am hiding in the parking lot. ![]()
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