(no subject)
The end of the semester is by now a familiar ritual. Textbooks undergo their version of the apocalypse, being drawn before my terrible and absolute judgment: the saints, having lived useful, chaste lives, ascend gloriously to the bookcase. The irremediable scoundrels I consign to abandonment, especially if they were used to begin with-which raises, perhaps, weighty questions of predestination. For them, there is wailing and gnashing of teeth. For the rest, the dull but good-hearted, the occasionally helpful but mainly annoying, their purgatory is the bathroom. There, when I have a spare moment,