A terrible thought occurred to me as I was on my way home that night: was he actually me? Would I become like him? An ex-student drifting around for years taking shifts until it is too late, all the options are gone and this becomes life? Would I be stuck there, forty years old, telling the young students who come and go on temp contracts, actually I was going to be a writer? Would you like to read a short story? It was rejected, but that’s only because the publishers are so damned conventional and don’t dare take a risk with someone who takes risks. They wouldn’t recognize a genius if they
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