Context: I’m stuck at a light on south 183. I’m tired from the end of the semester and grading final essays all afternoon. The car’s windows are down; I’m listening vaguely to Tom Verlaine’s rambling guitar on “Days.”

Situation: A man in his mid-twenties in the next car is yelling “Hey, Hey” out his side window at me. I look at him confused, thinking he is going to complain about the music’s volume.“Hey,” he continues to yell out his window, “You used to teach at Connally. I had you when I was a senior. You were great. You really knew your shit.” “Ah, thanks.” I said as the light changed and he drove off.Such are the weird rewards of teaching.

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