Freshman year, I was silly enough to be impressed with my writing professor, who read his poetry to us. The poetry was usually very good, which did not remove him from being a ninny.

He wrote about self-image and ego and searching for your reflection as you walk past car windows and store windows and toasters and anything that might reflect you. It's your face you want to see walking through the world. It's true, we all look for it. I wonder who has innocent motives. I wonder which people are looking to preen, and who is just wondering what she looks like translated into toaster metal, and who, like me, wants to see how awful she can look in new ways. I see myself looking washed sick by sunlight, or flattened into an unflattering plane, and I think, hmm, well, that's new, but I can't say I'm surprised.

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