‘Twas a brisk March morning. Our collective innards grumbled, as we approached
the refectory’s gates. A newsboy, clad in dungarees and flat cap, waving a piping hot
noser fresh from the press. His ruddy cheeks bellowed with boyish fervor—he sang,
“Get your noser! Fresh Nosers here!”
When we opened its pages, a glass of nectar in hand, our jaw dropped as we read
the fated headline: “New Issue of the Indy Just 20 Pages Of Word Association.”
Unfounded accusations of pretension, nonsense, and verbal spewage—in this publication?!
Blood, sweat, and tears are poured each week into this vaulted publication
to produce articles of lucidity and insight. What libel! Without cause or provocation.
Debilitated with anger we slumped in our seats. So lonely in the ratty, fork in hand,
the Iliad—unread. Temporality, opulence, Taylorism, Narragansett Lager, UNITE
HERE!, brother, MMT, inside baseball, interpolation, tote bag.