At the end of the week, I met up with the History crowd at the Student Union bar. It was a downbeat evening. A truly awful song came on and one student began a weird dance. Surprisingly, two girls joined in. What was unforgivable lay in their attempt to move provocatively around him. I couldn’t believe it. I looked around and they were smiling and clapping in slow motion. I knew them and didn’t want to. This was all wrong, but they were caught up in the moment. As the gyrating and noise reached fever pitch, I felt embarrassed for them. I told the student beside me that I had to be somewhere else – as in anywhere else, really quickly – when I heard a conversation behind in loud, plummy voices.
“Have you heard his accent?”
“I don’t know why they let his type into University.”
I looked down…
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