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September 2007, vol 3 no 3

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Roger Jones

 

Graduate School

I was constantly broke, but not yet to the point to where poverty had completely lost its romance. Most of us who filled the cramped teaching assistants' offices still found some adventure in the image of being bohemians. I wore hand-me-down clothing, and ate packaged mac and cheese, and tuna fish straight out of the can. My life consisted of books to read, papers to write, black coffee at night, and the lonely life of an unmarried, unattached scholar with nothing resembling a firm future.

snow blanketing
the parking lot cars—
all night diner