I took this night class in sociofuckingology in a misguided attempt to get a highschool diploma. My boss put me up to it because he said there was a future (a future I had zero interest in) at Chevalier Associates if I just got my papers in order. This little cherubic old English character right out of the Ealing movies taught the course. Every Tuesday night at 8 I headed downtown to Sir George Williams College in the Drummond Street YMCA so my mind could wander for an hour. The back door was on Stanley Street. Stanley Street was happening, man. After an hour of staring at the one cute chick I dashed down the four flooors and out the back door. Cafes and jazz bars and general bohemian noodling on the street – that was the night school I was into. Seven Steps Books was right next door and I went and hung out with Marxists and Poets and drinkers of Cheap Wine. At the end of this course I had to write an essay on any topic of my choosing. Anything. I had two months to prepare for this but couldn’t think of a thing. What is sociology anyway? On the final night I had dinner and went into my bedroom and faced the typewriter, my mind a blank. So I started typing, anything and everything that passed through my mind – one long four page single spaced non stop sentence which later that night I handed in. A week later I got it back with a big red “A” on the front and one word, “Brilliant” scrawled beneath. Jeezus, I wish I still had that thing. I’m sure it was utter garbage. But maybe not. But maybe yes.
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