Sara Darnell was a sprightly, svelte twenty-five year old who was known for serving detentions at meter maid frequency, if only to be taken marginally more seriously by the predominantly male Lincoln High Science Department. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. “How do you know?” “Well, it isn’t exactly a depressing state, is it?” “YOU don’t know. ‘How is this? Proo-den-ss. They stank, and she hated how they blocked the sunlight. I went off to round up his wife. Do you have family that I should ask?” “Oh, Julian! No, my family is dead, lost.
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