NP Readership (was ...

[Terrance]

Doug says, 
> 
> You really are full of it -- equal to the best of us.  I'm giving you the
> benefit of the doubt and assume that you do know what you're doing, at
> least some of the time.

 Wabe

Glory

Alice? 



You know what happened to my Norton Critical Contemporary Critical
Approaches to Literature? 

When I was just a kid, just 18, I already had
a 3 year old daughter. Her name was Chastity. I was a sophomore
Harvard. I didn't have a driver's license and I couldn't afford to
live very  close to the campus. They have, and they had then
a very good public transportation system. But I had to
drop my daughter off at Mrs. Toscano's house everyday before classes. I
couldn't take the bus or I would be late for school. I'll never forget
her or her house. As soon as you stepped into Mrs. Toscano's foyer,  you
stood at attention. Both her boys were MIA. She had newspaper clippings
of the Kennedy boys and MLK hung on
the walls like stations of the cross. She took good
care of my daughter, better than me, and she was kind.
One morning driving my bike to Mrs. Toscano's house,
my knees stickin out of my faded jeans, my ass not hanging
out for the whole damned world to see cause I patched the seat of them 
with an American flag, my Norton Critical Critical in a paper sack
dangling from the handle bars below Chastity's  feet.  suddenly the
bag swung out as I swerved to avoid a bottle on the road
and when I straightened the wheel that Norton critical,
thick as any NYC phone book, thin, nearly translucent the pages,
delicate articles, dainty and dignified phrases, well-crafted poems,
gods and men, women too, was fed like toilet paper on the fork
to the shredding spokes and momentum of the turning wheels, it
didn't slow the bike anymore than the playing cards, confetti whirling,
my daughter giggling, I soaked  the perspiration from my forehead
with the back of my forearm. Tears were streaming down my boney cheeks.