I Took A Little Celebrational Nap.

And Then There Were The Wallflowers Who Had Recognized For Years That The Thing Was Hopeless, Who Had Found In That Information A Kind Of Calm. They No Longer Tried, With A Bright And Desperate Effort, To Sustain A Conversation With Somebody's Brother, Somebody's Usher, Somebody's Roommate, Somebody's Roommate's Usher's Brother... The Category Of Wallflower Who Had Given Up On All This Was Very Quiet, Not Indifferent, Only Quiet. And She Always Brought A Book.

No One Ever Confides A Secret To One Person Only. No One Destroys All Copies Of A Document.

The Writer Has A Grudge Against Society, Which He Documents With Accounts Of Unsatisfying Sex, Unrealized Ambition, Unmitigated Loneliness, And A Sense Of Local And Global Distress.

There Is A Difference, Of Course, Between Real Sentiment And The Trash Of Shared Experience.

The Style Of Flirtation Specific To Classrooms Was Of Service To The Students All Their Lives.