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Roethke, Theodore

Last Class

All week I’ve been wanting to read this to you, waking up more excited than the trashman on the day-after-Christmas, and running into my…. uh… recording studio (read: three paces from the bed) to see if it’s quiet enough…

All week I’ve been wanting to read this to you, waking up more excited than the trashman on the day-after-Christmas, and running into my…. uh… recording studio (read: three paces from the bed) to see if it’s quiet enough.

But it hasn’t been quiet enough. All week there’ve been people, russian sailors doing ballet with cinderblock slippers (if you need some imagery), fewer than ten feet above my head, all day, back and forth and back again.

But today, I could hold out no longer, and instead of waiting for a quiet day, waited for a quiet spell, which was a way shorter wait.

That said, if you listen closely, in perfect silence and with headphones held tight, you may hear with your very own button-ears what I been hearing. Didja??

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By miette

Miette has been podcasting the best of world literature's short fiction since March 2005, when she was just a pup.

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