Beckett the Prophet
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Every afternoon, I drive to my local YMCA and spend an hour jogging in place on an elliptical machine. At that time of day, I am not in the mood to chat with my neighbors, churning away at their own machines, or even to gaze at the images on the screen before me. I instead turbo-charge my elliptical run and open a book. I am all business.
But a couple of weeks ago, my eyes kept wandering from the book I had brought—a play that my students were reading in one of my classes—to a fellow Y regular.
But a couple of weeks ago, my eyes kept wandering from the book I had brought—a play that my students were reading in one of my classes—to a fellow Y regular.
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