By Jacques Derrida
Read or Download [Article] The Politics of Friendship PDF
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Extra resources for [Article] The Politics of Friendship
I didn’t look so good. I’d slept in my best white shirt. It was a sorry sight. It was soaked with sweat at the chest, the armpits, and the collar. Sweat was still finding trails down the furrows of my face. It beaded on my forehead below the high hairline and in the dark circles beneath my eyes. My eyes looked very weary. And afraid. When I couldn’t look anymore, I went into the bathroom. I flicked on the light and went to the sink. I ran the water until it got cold. I bent to it. I caught it in my cupped hands.
I saw the light reflected in its fathomless black eyes. I followed. The light went out. Again I heard footsteps, moving away. I quickened my pace. I saw the vapor of my breath spiral out ahead of me, mingling with the mist. I felt my lungs working hard in my chest. I felt the cigarettes. All the cigarettes. I was nearly running. In another moment I was surrounded by the forest. The trees rushed past me: obscure, half-buried shapes. The angle of the slope seemed to increase under me. The leaves grew slicker.
I nodded. “Okay. Then what? ” Mindy kept looking down, kept shaking her head. “Life,” she said. “That’s all. Just life. ” “Yeah,” said Joanne. ” I plucked the cigarette from my mouth, darted it into the grass at my feet. “Yeah, well, I guess that would do it,” I said. The irony was faint, but Mindy heard it. “Well, maybe it was different back when you were a kid,” she said. Her voice was soft now. The corner of her lips were pulled down in a frown. “But for us, okay, it stinks. ’ And the television and everybody interviews the parents and the teachers and the experts and maybe the kids who tow the company line, the good little boys and girls, you know.