It was Saturday night, midnight-thirty, and so naturally I was in the ninth floor offices working on lessons. I was flipping through a Cadillac-sized textbook to search for poetry to teach when I read Robert Frost’s “Road Less Traveled.” In the question and answer section that followed the poem, there was a small thumbnail photograph of Frost to which I commented, “Robert Frost was hot.”
It was Saturday night, midnight-thirty in Bangladesh, and so naturally the image of any type of male dude person, even if it he is a deceased poet, will get me riled up.
The next fifteen and a half months is going to be painfully interesting.
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