This thought coming after I sat down to finish an essay during my free period in a classroom where I’ve been teaching for a few years. And where three years ago I read a beautiful essay a student wrote about walking around the city and hopping fences. I'm supposed to be writing about suspense in nonfiction narratives and the surreal violence of one Russian's fiction, but I keep seeing his fences and red brick buildings.
Still, very good that I have a career that lets me think of these things.
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