The Southern Review, January 1st, 2006
I FIRST READ THAT GOD IS DEAD in a tunnel on my way to class at the small midwestern liberal arts university I attended my freshman year. I had arrived there from the Houston suburbs just a few weeks before, terribly unsure of myself, and was rooming with a girl from Long Island, who was not, which only intensified my own self-consciousness. Just before classes began, the school had rented a replica steamboat for the freshmen and had bused us over to the Mississippi River for an evening cruise. I was wearing, as I recall, a lime green pant and blouse coordinate set, but quickly realized that...
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