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She’s started refusing furs. She turns up her nose at mink. She will not wear weasel. She won’t allow me the coonskin cap, either. It’s all about collegiate dress, she tells me, and one doesn’t wear furs to lecture.
I picturedthe 3 who had vanished from the dataas if they had risen from the ruinsand swept from their legs and chests the cracked stone that had been chewedby inhuman teeth.
It’s February, one of those thaws you get in the Midwest,so she’s driving a T-top Firebird, top off and in the trunk.The 8-track is cranked because we’re young. In our 20s.