Dear Sir or Ma’am,
Sometime today, or tomorrow, or one day over the next few weeks, you will graduate from your liberal arts college. Shortly afterwards you’ll be taken to a nice restaurant by your parents, spend one last night partying with your friends, and by all accounts live out some variation of a Dave Matthews song. Six hours later, hungover, you’ll unceremoniously pack up a car or U-Haul and drive to wherever’s next. It could be Chicago; it could be Hoboken. Wherever it is, it’s the FUTURE and something for which neither your Kierkegaard seminar nor advanced pottery workshop could possibly prepare you. With or without honors, you are now a lamb to the slaughter.
Henning
smpage
Lifting Fog 