venga, venga

Tonight there was a poetry/fiction reading tonight. Last night we slaved to make baked goods to sell (but not really -- to suggest donations for, really) at the poetry/fiction reading, but only our signs suggested donations, and the greedy freshmen did not heed the signs. I was too embarrassed to point them out.

So then the poetry and fiction were read, and I realized again how dangerous writers are. When he described girls as "pretty," we remembered that it is his job to notice such things, and perhaps he could aim this noticing at us.

The lotion stings my hands.