in-between the essays, there are messy journal entries. Such as this one:
Today, the tar from the cigar sits heavy in my lungs. The night is heavy—the air has been heavy all day, and my body feels heavy too—leaden—my mind, my heart as well.
I am suddenly aware of the weight of my… toes—the weight of the life the old man from whom I bought the cigar leads. The weight of the cigar, grasped between two fingers seems immense, and so does the weight of every word I write.
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You: “I’m here for that unschooling talk?”
See you next tomorrow, for this week’s feature postcard:
Are you or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party?