Dear comrades,
I am here to inform you of a very imminent danger. Something you always knew would come, something you’ve even probably looked forward to, but you never knew that it would be like this. I’m talking about graduation. That’s right; the very thing you’ve worked your whole life to accomplish is actually a threat to the very fabric of your lives.
You may believe some common misconceptions so allow me now to clear them up. You do in fact have to get a job, and in some cases you might need two. To truly get ahead often internships are necessary, internships that do not pay. In the real world words such as brah, bro, dude, dawg, ya boi, brotha, and homie are simply not acceptable and will not garner responses. Some adequate substitutions are sir, and well… that’s about it.
It’s not all popped collars and pastel colored polo’s out there, often it’s nothing but neckties and beige oxford shirts. Flip flops are in no way shape or form allowed in the office, even on casual Friday’s. Family Guy references that are hilariously inappropriate in the Frat House are just inappropriate in the post-grad world. That’s What She Said is actually evidence for sexual harassment law suits, so refrain from this joke at all times.
Work is a 9-5 event that cannot be skipped, because there are no exams so you cannot pay for the answers. Most video gaming equipment is banned in the workplace and offices have recently figured out how to block websites such as World of Warcraft and Myspace from there computers, so good luck playing endless amounts of solitaire to pass the time. When showing up at high school parties you will no longer be the mysterious college boy, you’ll be a creepy old man, and the police are likely to be called.
Remember that graduation trip to Europe where you are your boys are going to back pack up and down the coast, but in reality you’ll actually be staying in fancy hotels and trashing them? Your parents will not cover this fee, and if not paid for legal action will be taken. On the topic of your parents, don’t think that going home for a while “just until you get back on your feet” will work; chances are your room has already been converted into an office/gym.
Now brothers I don’t tell you this to make you feel hopeless and doomed, there is an answer. I recommend spacing out your classes and necessary credits intelligently, I’d say one class a semester will suffice. I’d also advise you to change your major a couple times; no one will blame you for being a little confused. But even when you’ve pulled out all the stops and it seems that graduation is inevitable, remember this: you can always go to grad school.
Sincerely, Emily Poe
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
wa7 3,3
Dear comrades, I am here to inform you of a very imminent danger. Something you always knew would come, something you’ve even probably looked forward to, but you never knew that it would be like this. I’m talking about graduation. That’s right; the very thing you’ve worked your whole life to accomplish is actually a threat to the very fabric of your lives.
You may believe some common misconceptions so allow me now to clear them up. You do in fact have to get a job, and in some cases you might need two. To truly get ahead often internships are necessary, internships that do not pay. In the real world words such as brah, bro, dude, dawg, ya boi, brotha, and homie are simply not acceptable and will not garner responses. Some adequate substitutions are sir, and well… that’s about it.
It’s not all popped collars and pastel colored polo’s out there, often it’s nothing but neckties and beige oxford shirts. Flip flops are in no way shape or form allowed in the office, even on casual Friday’s. Family Guy references that are hilariously inappropriate in the Frat House are just inappropriate in the post-grad world. That’s What She Said is actually evidence for sexual harassment law suits, so refrain from this joke at all times.
Work is a 9-5 event that cannot be skipped, because there are no exams so you cannot pay for the answers. Most video gaming equipment is banned in the workplace and offices have recently figured out how to block websites such as World of Warcraft and Myspace from there computers, so good luck playing endless amounts of solitaire to pass the time. When showing up at high school parties you will no longer be the mysterious college boy, you’ll be a creepy old man, and the police are likely to be called.
Remember that graduation trip to Europe where you are your boys are going to back pack up and down the coast, but in reality you’ll actually be staying in fancy hotels and trashing them? Your parents will not cover this fee, and if not paid for legal action will be taken. On the topic of your parents, don’t think that going home for a while “just until you get back on your feet” will work; chances are your room has already been converted into an office/gym.
Now brothers I don’t tell you this to make you feel hopeless and doomed, there is an answer. I recommend spacing out your classes and necessary credits intelligently, I’d say one class a semester will suffice. I’d also advise you to change your major a couple times; no one will blame you for being a little confused. But even when you’ve pulled out all the stops and it seems that graduation is inevitable, remember this: you can always go to grad school.
You may believe some common misconceptions so allow me now to clear them up. You do in fact have to get a job, and in some cases you might need two. To truly get ahead often internships are necessary, internships that do not pay. In the real world words such as brah, bro, dude, dawg, ya boi, brotha, and homie are simply not acceptable and will not garner responses. Some adequate substitutions are sir, and well… that’s about it.
It’s not all popped collars and pastel colored polo’s out there, often it’s nothing but neckties and beige oxford shirts. Flip flops are in no way shape or form allowed in the office, even on casual Friday’s. Family Guy references that are hilariously inappropriate in the Frat House are just inappropriate in the post-grad world. That’s What She Said is actually evidence for sexual harassment law suits, so refrain from this joke at all times.
Work is a 9-5 event that cannot be skipped, because there are no exams so you cannot pay for the answers. Most video gaming equipment is banned in the workplace and offices have recently figured out how to block websites such as World of Warcraft and Myspace from there computers, so good luck playing endless amounts of solitaire to pass the time. When showing up at high school parties you will no longer be the mysterious college boy, you’ll be a creepy old man, and the police are likely to be called.
Remember that graduation trip to Europe where you are your boys are going to back pack up and down the coast, but in reality you’ll actually be staying in fancy hotels and trashing them? Your parents will not cover this fee, and if not paid for legal action will be taken. On the topic of your parents, don’t think that going home for a while “just until you get back on your feet” will work; chances are your room has already been converted into an office/gym.
Now brothers I don’t tell you this to make you feel hopeless and doomed, there is an answer. I recommend spacing out your classes and necessary credits intelligently, I’d say one class a semester will suffice. I’d also advise you to change your major a couple times; no one will blame you for being a little confused. But even when you’ve pulled out all the stops and it seems that graduation is inevitable, remember this: you can always go to grad school.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
WA6 Final
I have no name. Names are for people with friends, family, jobs, and lives. To deserve a name you must have people that care about you. I’ve lost count of the number of people that walk past me and ignore me. Invisible. I am the sidewalk. Jobless and homeless and alone. I am going to die soon. I am not ill, or in danger. I have lost the will to live. Couples walk by, families walk by, friends walk by, business associates walk by, bicyclists, drivers, dog walkers all walk by. I have fallen into the asphalt and cement and litter and now I blend in perfectly. The scene around me could be anything. I’ve seen it all. A van races by, a man in expensive shoes holds the hand of a woman with an expensive hand bag. They could help me, but they won’t. It’s midday and the city is alive. I’m being lulled to sleep and the words around me are yanked up in volume.
“Could he bathe?”
“Pity. Letting that happen to yourself.”
“Don’t pity them, then they’ll never learn. They don’t need any financial support, what they need is motivation. He’s done this to himself and he has no one else to blame.”
“Still, maybe we should give him some change?”
“Please. Don’t bore me with your jokes.”
Laughing. Then quiet. Do they think I can’t hear? That the rattling in my head has made an impenetrable sound barrier? And what did they mean “Don’t pity them, then they’ll never learn” as if I’m some disobedient dog to be trained along with all the other inadequate humans. I would be furious with those two if it was only them that had the audacity to say that. But it’s not. It’s everyone. There’s no point in being angry with the world. I’ve tried it, that sure didn’t get me out of here.
I used to ask for change. I was one of the people that perpetually appeared on your corner, making it impossible to ignore. Eventually I wore you down and your hurried apologies of “No money on me today” grew less and less believable, to the point you’d put in change just to stop the charade with yourself. But playing on people guilt and generosity led to money that was always rare and never enough. Once in passing I heard a man saying as if it was advice I was meant to overhear:“At least he could play an instrument or some other talent and earn money.”Perfect idea, except for my inability to find and instrument and teach myself to play. Also difficult due to the arm I lost in the war. But really pal, I appreciate the consideration.
Do all these people really think I chose this? I’m 23. My five year plan held me being done with my degree and working at some hoity toity company by now. I’ve done all I can think to do, but my permanent limp, lacking left arm, and missing left eye have made it increasingly more problematic to pull myself out of this rut. So say what you want of me, like I said I know I’ll die anyways. But please, take this as a dying man’s last wish, don’t ever think I chose this.
“Could he bathe?”
“Pity. Letting that happen to yourself.”
“Don’t pity them, then they’ll never learn. They don’t need any financial support, what they need is motivation. He’s done this to himself and he has no one else to blame.”
“Still, maybe we should give him some change?”
“Please. Don’t bore me with your jokes.”
Laughing. Then quiet. Do they think I can’t hear? That the rattling in my head has made an impenetrable sound barrier? And what did they mean “Don’t pity them, then they’ll never learn” as if I’m some disobedient dog to be trained along with all the other inadequate humans. I would be furious with those two if it was only them that had the audacity to say that. But it’s not. It’s everyone. There’s no point in being angry with the world. I’ve tried it, that sure didn’t get me out of here.
I used to ask for change. I was one of the people that perpetually appeared on your corner, making it impossible to ignore. Eventually I wore you down and your hurried apologies of “No money on me today” grew less and less believable, to the point you’d put in change just to stop the charade with yourself. But playing on people guilt and generosity led to money that was always rare and never enough. Once in passing I heard a man saying as if it was advice I was meant to overhear:“At least he could play an instrument or some other talent and earn money.”Perfect idea, except for my inability to find and instrument and teach myself to play. Also difficult due to the arm I lost in the war. But really pal, I appreciate the consideration.
Do all these people really think I chose this? I’m 23. My five year plan held me being done with my degree and working at some hoity toity company by now. I’ve done all I can think to do, but my permanent limp, lacking left arm, and missing left eye have made it increasingly more problematic to pull myself out of this rut. So say what you want of me, like I said I know I’ll die anyways. But please, take this as a dying man’s last wish, don’t ever think I chose this.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
WA 6 draft1
I have no name. Names are for people with friends, family, jobs, and lives. To deserve a name you must have people that care about you. I’ve lost count of the number of people that walk past me and ignore me. Invisible. I am the sidewalk. Jobless and homeless and alone. I am going to die soon. I am not ill, or in danger. I have lost the will to live. Couples walk by, families walk by, friends walk by, business associates walk by, bicyclists, drivers, dog walkers all walk by. I have fallen into the asphalt and cement and litter and now I blend in perfectly. The scene around me could be anything. I’ve seen it all. A van races by, a man in expensive shoes holds the hand of a woman with an expensive hand bag. They could help me, but they won’t. It’s midday and the city is alive. I’m being lulled to sleep and the words around me are yanked up in volume.
“Could he bathe?”
“Pity. Letting that happen to yourself.”
“Don’t pity them, then they’ll never learn. They don’t need any financial support, what they need is motivation. He’s done this to himself and he has no one else to blame.”
“Still, maybe we should give him some change?”
“Please. Don’t bore me with your jokes.”
Laughing. Then quiet. Do they think I can’t hear? That the rattling in my head has made an impenetrable sound barrier? And what did they mean “Don’t pity them, then they’ll never learn” as if I’m some dog to be trained along with all the other feral humans. I would be furious with those two if it was only them that had the audacity to say that. But it’s not. It’s everyone. There’s no point in being angry with the world. I’ve tried it, that sure didn’t get me out of here.
I used to ask for change. I was one of the people that perpetually appeared on your corner, making it impossible to ignore. Eventually I wore you down and your hurried apologies of “No money on me today” grew less and less believable, to the point you’d put in change just to stop the charade with yourself. But playing on people guilt and generosity led to money that was always rare and never enough. Once in passing I heard a man saying as if it was advice I was meant to overhear:
“At least he could play an instrument or some other talent and earn money.”
Perfect idea, except for my inability to find and instrument and teach myself to play. Also difficult due to the arm I lost in the war. But really pal, I appreciate the consideration.
Do all these people really think I chose this? I’m 23. My five year plan held me being done with my degree and working at some hoity toity company by now. I’ve done all I can think to do, but my permanent limp, lacking left arm, and lacking left eye have made it increasingly more problematic to pull myself out of this rut. So say what you want of me, like I said I know I’ll die anyways. But please, take this as a dying mans last wish, don’t ever think I chose this.
“Could he bathe?”
“Pity. Letting that happen to yourself.”
“Don’t pity them, then they’ll never learn. They don’t need any financial support, what they need is motivation. He’s done this to himself and he has no one else to blame.”
“Still, maybe we should give him some change?”
“Please. Don’t bore me with your jokes.”
Laughing. Then quiet. Do they think I can’t hear? That the rattling in my head has made an impenetrable sound barrier? And what did they mean “Don’t pity them, then they’ll never learn” as if I’m some dog to be trained along with all the other feral humans. I would be furious with those two if it was only them that had the audacity to say that. But it’s not. It’s everyone. There’s no point in being angry with the world. I’ve tried it, that sure didn’t get me out of here.
I used to ask for change. I was one of the people that perpetually appeared on your corner, making it impossible to ignore. Eventually I wore you down and your hurried apologies of “No money on me today” grew less and less believable, to the point you’d put in change just to stop the charade with yourself. But playing on people guilt and generosity led to money that was always rare and never enough. Once in passing I heard a man saying as if it was advice I was meant to overhear:
“At least he could play an instrument or some other talent and earn money.”
Perfect idea, except for my inability to find and instrument and teach myself to play. Also difficult due to the arm I lost in the war. But really pal, I appreciate the consideration.
Do all these people really think I chose this? I’m 23. My five year plan held me being done with my degree and working at some hoity toity company by now. I’ve done all I can think to do, but my permanent limp, lacking left arm, and lacking left eye have made it increasingly more problematic to pull myself out of this rut. So say what you want of me, like I said I know I’ll die anyways. But please, take this as a dying mans last wish, don’t ever think I chose this.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
WA5 Final Draft
Part 1
There are booms of happiness all around me. I reflect and image of pure joy. A woman in white, a man in a suit, a grand five tear cake, and smiling faces. My intricate grooves and indentations scatter the illustration until it is almost undecipherable, but I know. But no matter how beautiful the scene around me is I am at the center of it. People gasp when they look at me, their faces exclaim praise of my unwavering exquisiteness. My elegant design is flawless. I sit upon a long uninterrupted lustrous neck that cranes to see what’s happening even in the far stretches of the chuppah. I flare outwards into a draping goblet that looks like a facsimile of the bride’s skirt. The wedding procession begins. A young girl walks down in a jittery skipping way. She flings out flower petals and then stumbles and the entire contents of her basket dump out into a pile in the middle of the pathway. Then just as the music is reaching its peak, an older man and the bride step onto the runway. She is donning an eloquent dress and a shimmering veil. She makes it to her fiancé who is sweating bullets. The music cuts off, children are shushed, camcorders are clicked on, and the Rabbi begins. People on both sides of the ceremony settle in for a long wait. A man stands up and fluffs his coat. He exudes fake importance; clearly he has taken the littlest job appointed to him to his head. He walks in my direction. His clammy hands grab me and fumble around. I’m captured! I shine with excitement what are they doing, will they honor me as they should. I am handed to the Rabbi who handles me with much more care. He holds me to the audience. He is presenting me and people applaud adoringly. The Rabbi pulls out a long silk cloth from his robe. It is embroidered and breathtaking. Gently he starts wrapping me in it. I’m covered, and I can see nothing. I am cradled like and infant then delicately placed on the ground. I can hear the attendees counting down and a swoosh and then
“Mazel Tov!"
Part 2
Every thing is going according to plan. My ex is probably killing himself right now for letting me go. But that’s what he gets. After 7 years, a marriage is the only logical thing to happen. So for our 7th year anniversary what else would he give me but my diamond ring? Try a set of wine glasses. His defense was that I’d been telling him how much I wanted them, and they cost a fortune. This man kept me in a relationship for 7 years and he knew all along had no potential to grow into anything. So what better revenge than to get married to the richest man I could find. I bet he’s squirming like a squashed but right now, letting a catch like me get away, what an idiot. And the best part? The wine glass (singular since the other three were thrown at his head) he so “sweetly” gave to me will be stomped on at the wedding!“Time to get married” My father yells into my dressing room.I walk out and take my father arm and we head to the ceremony, the wedding procession goes out. Finally it’s my turn, the music peaks. Out I walk to my fiancé, this couldn’t be better. It’s all happening so perfectly. Ew why is he so slimy? Is he sweating? And twitching? That’s obnoxious. He slips the ring onto my hand, it’s hideous.“I do” he says.“I do” I say.I do? Why? Oh right the perfect pay back. Is he wearing brown shoes, with a black tuxedo? So he might have horrible taste but he’s also unbearably petulant, and repulsive. Wait that’s not right, he’s... is that fungus in his ear? I feel light headed. My new brother in-law stands up and heads clumsily to the cup. Wait no! Don’t smash it! He’s handing it to the Rabbi; I’m clinging to this glass like it’s my own life.
He puts it on the ground…I have made a horrible mistake.
Smash.
Mazal tov
There are booms of happiness all around me. I reflect and image of pure joy. A woman in white, a man in a suit, a grand five tear cake, and smiling faces. My intricate grooves and indentations scatter the illustration until it is almost undecipherable, but I know. But no matter how beautiful the scene around me is I am at the center of it. People gasp when they look at me, their faces exclaim praise of my unwavering exquisiteness. My elegant design is flawless. I sit upon a long uninterrupted lustrous neck that cranes to see what’s happening even in the far stretches of the chuppah. I flare outwards into a draping goblet that looks like a facsimile of the bride’s skirt. The wedding procession begins. A young girl walks down in a jittery skipping way. She flings out flower petals and then stumbles and the entire contents of her basket dump out into a pile in the middle of the pathway. Then just as the music is reaching its peak, an older man and the bride step onto the runway. She is donning an eloquent dress and a shimmering veil. She makes it to her fiancé who is sweating bullets. The music cuts off, children are shushed, camcorders are clicked on, and the Rabbi begins. People on both sides of the ceremony settle in for a long wait. A man stands up and fluffs his coat. He exudes fake importance; clearly he has taken the littlest job appointed to him to his head. He walks in my direction. His clammy hands grab me and fumble around. I’m captured! I shine with excitement what are they doing, will they honor me as they should. I am handed to the Rabbi who handles me with much more care. He holds me to the audience. He is presenting me and people applaud adoringly. The Rabbi pulls out a long silk cloth from his robe. It is embroidered and breathtaking. Gently he starts wrapping me in it. I’m covered, and I can see nothing. I am cradled like and infant then delicately placed on the ground. I can hear the attendees counting down and a swoosh and then
“Mazel Tov!"
Part 2
Every thing is going according to plan. My ex is probably killing himself right now for letting me go. But that’s what he gets. After 7 years, a marriage is the only logical thing to happen. So for our 7th year anniversary what else would he give me but my diamond ring? Try a set of wine glasses. His defense was that I’d been telling him how much I wanted them, and they cost a fortune. This man kept me in a relationship for 7 years and he knew all along had no potential to grow into anything. So what better revenge than to get married to the richest man I could find. I bet he’s squirming like a squashed but right now, letting a catch like me get away, what an idiot. And the best part? The wine glass (singular since the other three were thrown at his head) he so “sweetly” gave to me will be stomped on at the wedding!“Time to get married” My father yells into my dressing room.I walk out and take my father arm and we head to the ceremony, the wedding procession goes out. Finally it’s my turn, the music peaks. Out I walk to my fiancé, this couldn’t be better. It’s all happening so perfectly. Ew why is he so slimy? Is he sweating? And twitching? That’s obnoxious. He slips the ring onto my hand, it’s hideous.“I do” he says.“I do” I say.I do? Why? Oh right the perfect pay back. Is he wearing brown shoes, with a black tuxedo? So he might have horrible taste but he’s also unbearably petulant, and repulsive. Wait that’s not right, he’s... is that fungus in his ear? I feel light headed. My new brother in-law stands up and heads clumsily to the cup. Wait no! Don’t smash it! He’s handing it to the Rabbi; I’m clinging to this glass like it’s my own life.
He puts it on the ground…I have made a horrible mistake.
Smash.
Mazal tov
Sunday, February 22, 2009
WA 5 2nd draft
Every thing is going according to plan. My ex is probably killing himself right now for letting me go. But that’s what he gets. After 7 years, a marriage is the only logical thing to happen. So for our 7th year anniversary what else would he give me but my diamond ring? Try a set of wine glasses. His defense was that I’d been telling him how much I wanted them, and they cost a fortune. What a sinister man, absolutely evil. He kept me in a relationship for 7 years, that he knew all along had no potential to grow into anything. So what better revenge than to get married to the richest man I could find. I bet he’s squirming like a squashed but right now, letting a catch like me get away, what an idiot. And the best part? The wine glass (singular since the other three I threw at his head. Ha!) he so “sweetly” gave to me will be stomped on at the wedding!
“Time to get married” My father yells into my dressing room.
I walk out and take my father arm and we head to the ceremony, the wedding procession goes out. Finally it’s my turn, the music peaks. Out I walk and sashay to my fiancé, this couldn’t be better. It’s all happening so perfectly and, ew why is he so slimy? Is he sweating? Great. Is he trying to mouth something to me? I love you, ok got it clearly you love me we’re getting married don’t be obnoxious. He slips the ring onto my hand, it’s hideous.
“I do” he says.
“I do” I say.
I do? Why? Oh right the perfect pay back. Is he wearing brown shoes, with a black tuxedo? So he might have horrible taste but he’s also unbearably petulant, and repulsive. Wait that’s not right, he’s rich and not afraid of commitment. Is that fungus in his ear? I feel light headed. My new brother in-law stands up and heads clumsily to the cup. Wait no! Don’t smash it! He’s handing it to the Rabbi; I’m clinging to this glass like it’s my own life. He puts it on the ground…
I have made a horrible mistake.
Smash.
Mazal tov
“Time to get married” My father yells into my dressing room.
I walk out and take my father arm and we head to the ceremony, the wedding procession goes out. Finally it’s my turn, the music peaks. Out I walk and sashay to my fiancé, this couldn’t be better. It’s all happening so perfectly and, ew why is he so slimy? Is he sweating? Great. Is he trying to mouth something to me? I love you, ok got it clearly you love me we’re getting married don’t be obnoxious. He slips the ring onto my hand, it’s hideous.
“I do” he says.
“I do” I say.
I do? Why? Oh right the perfect pay back. Is he wearing brown shoes, with a black tuxedo? So he might have horrible taste but he’s also unbearably petulant, and repulsive. Wait that’s not right, he’s rich and not afraid of commitment. Is that fungus in his ear? I feel light headed. My new brother in-law stands up and heads clumsily to the cup. Wait no! Don’t smash it! He’s handing it to the Rabbi; I’m clinging to this glass like it’s my own life. He puts it on the ground…
I have made a horrible mistake.
Smash.
Mazal tov
Monday, February 16, 2009
WA 5 draft 1
There are booms of happiness all around me. I reflect and image of pure joy. A woman in white, a man in a suit, a grand five tear cake, and smiling faces. My intricate grooves and indentations scatter the illustration until it is almost undecipherable, but I know. But no matter how beautiful the scene around me is I am at the center of it. People gasp when they look at me, their faces exclaim praise of my unwavering exquisiteness. Their looks of shock give me sensations of elation that could only be compared to the pageant I’m submersed in. My elegant design is flawless. I sit upon a long uninterrupted lustrous neck that cranes to see what’s happening even in the far stretches of the chuppah. I flare outwards into a draping goblet that looks like a facsimile of the bride’s skirt. The wedding procession begins. Women all clad in matching hideous gowns walk down the isle. Their facial expressions are thinly hiding their disgust over their outfits. A young girl walks down in a jittery skipping way. She flings out flower petals and then stumbles and the entire contents of her basket dump out into a pile in the middle of the pathway. The girl looks unembarrassed although here mother seeps anger out her ears. She knew one last practice was necessary. Then just as the music is reaching its peak an older man and the bride step onto the runway. She is donning an eloquent dress and a shimmering veil. She sashays to her future husband. There is no doubt that this is her day. She finally makes it to her fiancé who is sweating bullets. The music cuts off, children are shushed, camcorders are clicked on, and the Rabbi begins. People on both sides of the ceremony settle in for a long wait. Eventually the talking ceases and people realize it’s their turn. They acknowledge their que by cheers that seem a little too over zealous. A man stands up and fluffs his coat. He exudes fake importance; clearly he has taken the littlest job appointed to him to his head. He takes a step in my direction. Then another. And another. Just one more. His clammy hands grab me and fumbles around. I’m captured! I shine with excitement what are they doing, will they honor me as they should. I am handed to the Rabbi who handles me with much more care. He holds me to the audience. He is presenting me and people applaud. Not like the nervous “I wasn’t paying attention to what was happening but I guess you’re married now” cheers they displayed earlier. No! These were genuine claps that proved their need to glorify me. The Rabbi pulls out a long silk cloth from his robe. It is embroidered and breathtaking. Gently he starts wrapping me in it. I’m covered, and I can see nothing. I am cradled like and infant then delicately placed on the ground. I can hear the attendees counting down and a swoosh and then
“Mazel Tov!"
“Mazel Tov!"
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