The sensation of doom sets in when Marc walks into the room with forceps in one hand and a small plastic packet in the other.“Awake?” Marc asks.�...Let me go!” Angela explodes at him.“Listen, I told you this is how it was gonna happen. Be a good girl and you’ll get to go home tonight, I promise.”“Fuck you, let me go you asshole.”“No.” Marc tells her.“What about all of those people who saw us leave the club together?”“Yea fucking right, everyone at that club were so fucking trashed they wouldn’t. My pottery teacher said something to me that I never forgot. “Though I am a master, when I look at a piece of clay I am a beginner.” When I told Tollie that, he said that he’d learned that about poetry. I did the same thing that Tollie did when he dropped out of the PhD program to write poetry. I didn’t go back to college the following fall and came home and for a while, shared his apartment, but we also spent a lot of time in the big house. We turned the whole downstairs of the carriage house. More

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