Friday, November 30, 2018
I am looking out of the window at three o’clock in the afternoon after five straight days of teaching. It’s been a long week–not exceptionally taxing, but long nonetheless. My door is propped open, to air out the faint, but constantly lingering aroma of marijuana, now trapped in my student’s coats in the cold weather. There is no cloak room in my class, nor is there one on the corners and in the alleys where they smoke, so the stale stench follows them like a stray cat.
I hear my colleague say from the hallway, in her thick Cuban accent that reminds me of Pedro Zamora, “No, don’t thank me. Mr. Darden facilitated this.”
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