The title has no real relevance to the post but it seemed rather fitting as I'm currently studying Shakespeare.
I think that one of the coolest things you could ever really witness as a student is a teacher that's so into what they do, it's as if they've never known anything else or ever wanted to do anything more than teach. Like nothing, not even the end of the entire world, could ever stop them from teaching. I'm pleased to say that I've met a few of these in my lifetime.
My English teacher has this belief that the death of the writer is the birth of the reader. The instant a piece of writing becomes published it's like it was never really theirs to begin with. Anything from the point of publishing that is imagined deduced or suggested, is exactly what the writer had intended to mean. So take from this what you will. Unless what you're taking from it is drugs. In which case that's not what I was intending. Take from this anything other than drugs. Also, I have an essay on Henry IV to complete next week and I'm genuinely terrified of failing.
You can fall a thousand times in this city and nobody will do so much as to steal a glance. It don't matter if you're black, white, blue, pink, or one train ride away from losing your mind, not even the most idle of fools will help you. You wave a dollar bill in their face though, well you'll have them hooked like a fish. Won't even fret for three seconds to help you on your feet. For five bucks you might even get them to carry your bag all the way home for you. That's if you're brave. You'll get that thing taken off you faster than a Peregrine falcon if you call for the wrong type of attention. And the wrong type of attention ain't that far from the corner shop across the road. The dumpsters at the back of that place aren't much more than finished ointment tubes and broken youths picking through empty pill bottles. Now a days it seems like faith takes place in a bottle of red pills.