Out of the whirlpool

George kept trying to concentrate on his anthropology, but the laughter from the next room was simply too tempting. "Besides," he thought, "I really should be more neighborly." He poked his head into Kevin and Mike's room. Although it was mid-afternoon, Mike was still under the covers, chuckling over the latest Marx Brothers film his Cinema I class was studying.

Kevin sat in his customary sprawl, legs stretched halfway across the room, chair tilted breathtakingly backward. He looked up from the pine twig he was whittling. "George, nice of you to drop in."

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Joy Boy," said Pete, the third member of the powwow, sitting as usual facing the back of his chair. George flinched at the mockery. Pete always seemed like a hermit who, when finally driven to seek human society, was ashamed of his weakness. George smiled.

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My people
October 23, 1978

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