Thursday, June 7

   I haven't even graduated and already my parents are on me to contribute to my board. This morning I had an interview at a paint company. The place is all the way down by the harbor.
   Farber, that's the company's name, will pay half-tuition of all classes their lab assistants pass. If I work there, I could go to school at night.
   I don't want to work there unless I have to. It took an hour and five minutes on two buses, plus a ten minute walk from the last bus stop to reach the plant.
   On the way there I was so involved in thinking about a good job -- which this wasn't, it was a sweatshop -- that I didn't mind the heat on the buses.
   On the way home my mind wandered all over the place until it settled down into guerrilla warfare fantasy that I often have.
   As I looked at the bus window, I daydreamed that the Commies have taken over the US Government and now are street-by-street routing out subversives. Luke and I have a

 

base in the cellar of his rowhouse from which we sneak out every night to wreck havoc among the Red Bastards.
   When the bus passes railroad tracks, I note them for one night I might need to blow them up. Later Luke and I would return to our base where Betsy and Luke’s latest flame would await their heroes return.
   Long bus rides seem much shorter when these fantasies roam my mind.