Electricity’s Ghost
By 1966 I still hadn’t read a book, thought history was for dead people, math for those who didn’t count, and that there were three sexes: men, women, and nuns. And now, for Junior year, the worst of the worst: Sister Johanna would engineer English, slap down Speech, and herd us into Home Room where, one day, she’d tell my friend, Paul, that he wasn’t worth the postage it would take to send him out of the country. All summer I listened to Dylan’s “Visions of Johanna” for guidance but learned only that the “ghost of electricity howls in the bones of her...
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