One of the boys in the class you just can't get to shut up. I guess he would say the same about me.
We had just watched an instructional video with Dr. Thomas Foster (I'm going to buy his book), who talked about how little time there is to dazzle and capture readers. A sentence. A paragraph. Maybe a page at the most. He talks with this monotone voice that you hardly believe he ever read a book in his life. Doesn't literature excite anyone, anymore?
But I digress.
After the clip, I'm confused, which mixed with the tramadol and the coffee, explains itself. I raise my hand, and the English instructor tells me to proceed.
"Did he say 'road novel'?" I ask.
"Yes, he did."
"What is a 'road novel'?" I've studied literature in high school and at the Unversity, and never heard of a "road novel."
The boy, a few rows down, answers for the English instructor like we're all paying him to talk, instead of the tall guy in the dress shoes in the front of class.
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