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Page 5 text:
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natural to drink as much of it as I do; the carbonic (?) acid isn ' t good for my stomach lining, and I ' ve been promised ulcers by a variety of reputable physicians. Further, the caffeine is making me a nervous wreck. Hell, it even tastes awful this early in the morning. I drain the rest of the can and head for the door. As I gently close it and lock myself out, I wish I could have left her a note to tell her how much I love her. She likes them, and gets lonely very easily. But there ' s tonight. Even before I look at the clock I know that this is the first morning in quite a whilethat the clock now happily ticking on its shelf back in the apartment has been less than 20 minutes fast. This one insists that it is 7:47. I marvel again at my speed realizing that there are those who won ' t. That asshole will doubtless come up with something like Well, Mr. — Ah — (looking up my name, as a tactless reference to the infrequency of my attendence, then mispronouncing it) — so you ' ve decided to join us after all. Do come in. All of which is very strange, I tell myself. He should feel complimented that I took the effort to come in, knowing I would be late. When people run to keep from missing very much of your class you have nothing to worry about, and nothing to gain from ridiculing them except enemies. When you should worry is when they wake up, see it ' s time for your class, and go back to sleep. I wonder to myself why so many professors here think they ' re such hot shit. It wouldn ' t be so bad if so many of them weren ' t right. You can at least laugh at someone you know is full of shit. The people who are very good you can only listen to. Still, it ' s a pleasant change from high school to find not only instruc tors who know about their subjects, but know a great deal about them. A girl passes with hair that looks like it belongs on a Barbie doll and an outfit to match. I wonder why I ' m the only person on campus who looks like he just woke up at 8 in the morning. These people take showers after they get up and I understand that some of them even eat breakfast. My system automatically convulses at the thought of food before noon, and the portions of a pizza, Cheetos, ice cream, Coke and Laughing Cow Cheese ingested the previous night within a one-hour period and not as yet undigested remind me that they ' re ready to make a break for it at the first opportunity, in case I get any funny ideas. I look around hopefully for Ken, but see no one in the surging cro wd fitting the description. I amuse myself with the notion that he ' s already in class. Having made the seventeenth turn against the flow of the crowd (no matter which way you turn, it ' s always against the flow) I find myself in the correct building. The clock hanging from the suspended ceiling reads 8:14. As I leave the stairwell and land in the hall outside my class, I notice with little surprise that I ' m the only one in it. The door is closed, of course. I open it and step quietly (but never meekly) inside. Ah, so Mr. — ah — Burnette — will be joining us after all this morning. We ' ve been waiting.
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Page 4 text:
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Morning Stories nowhere. I float numbly between everything and everything else, feeling like a guy who ' s just taken his last step along a diving board that was one step shorter than he imagined. Not falling yet, but no longer fully in contact with anything solid. A sense of urgency underlies it all. There ' s something I have to do...But what is it? And who am I, anyway? The urgency burns in the back of my mind like radio white noise, becoming louder, more demanding. Now, quickly, the static solidifies into a raucous buzz, a tone calculated not to be in the slightest fashion pleasant. The curtain of darkness and amnesia is ripped down the center, and I open my my eyes to behold my red-and-white alarm clock on the floor where I have apparently cast it, conveniently about six inches beyond my reach. Insulted but uninjured, the device continues to broadcast general alarm into the carpet. Turning it off turns out to be a simpler operation than I had thought, carried out at the end by a leap from the bed. I weave unevenly to the bathroom and search for white untinted by pink in the general area around the iris of the eye that ' s open. Finding none, I return from whence I came, where the young woman until recently lying beside me is still gently bobbing in the waves left by my sudden departure from our waterbed. I pause to marvel at the rapidity with which I came from a state of total rest to relative activity. My self-congratulation comes to a rapid halt as I turn the now passively ticking clock over and it mutely comments that it will be 8 a.m. in fifteen minutes or so. Shit, I reply. The young woman opens her eyes and gives the indignant squint of all people awakened before It ' s Time to Get Up. Her first class today is at 10 a.m. Mine is in fifteen minutes or so. She rolls over and says something I don ' t quite catch to the pillow or is it the hinge holding two of the waterbed frame boards together? Being a simple dresser (but blessed with an admittedly complicated chest-of drawers), I am already working on the only part of my wardrobe which takes more than ten seconds to prepare, my shoes. I realize fully that it takes at least 23 minutes to get from where I am now to my classroom on campus, and I tell myself that I wish I had a car so I couldn ' t park it like everybody else. I make my trip to the gleaming white shrine with the cool air spilling out and remove a red-and-white coke can. I can ' t leave before I fix this dry throat. I ' m addicted to these things, I tell myself. It ' s not
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