Lexicon

chin. “No,” she said, and tried to cover her ears. He pulled away her hands and spoke and her mind went away. When she returned to herself, he was sitting in the chair across the rug, his eyes dark. She closed her mouth and swallowed. Her throat felt sore.
    “Your time here is over,” he said.
    “Please don’t send me away. Please.”
    He stood. She began to cry again, but there was no pity in his eyes. He left.

KILLED STUDENT “RAN INTO TRAFFIC”
    Police say the student who was struck and killed by a vehicle on Montebury Avenue on Friday was attempting to cross the busy road away from lights or crossings.
    The driver, a 39-year-old woman from Orange, was moving at or near the speed limit, police say.
    The incident is likely to reignite calls for lights or a crossing, as it has been the scene of several accidents. The area was again targeted for upgrade in the Department of Transportation’s Pedestrian Safety Master Plan, but works were placed on hold last year due to local opposition.
    The student is believed to have been in his final year at an exclusive Williamsburg school. His name and details have not been released.

[II]

    Odysseus, who had first avoided identifying himself, and then given a false, impossible appellation, now supplies his real name in full: he is Odysseus, sacker of cities, son of Laertes, who lives in Ithaca. Odysseus’ mention of his true name acts as a flash of illumination for the blind giant, who now comprehends an earlier prediction concerning his loss of sight. The enlightened Cyclops does not respond with stones this time, but with the force of words. Polyphemus is able, at long last, to bend language to his needs, and he carefully repeats, word for word, Odysseus’ name, epithet, patronym and country of origin, when he prays to his father Poseidon to punish him.
    — DEBORAH LEVINE GERA ,
Ancient Greek Ideas on Speech, Language, and Civilization

Posted: 22 minutes ago See conversation
    Well what happened is two weeks ago I went for a job interview and they turned around a laptop to face me and said, “Is this you?” And it was all this stuff I posted YEARS ago, pics of me passed out, drunk, long teenage rants about stupid shit, you know
    So needless to say, no job
    So before THIS interview I delete EVERYTHING, delete Facebook, delete Twitter, anything I can find. I go in and the first thing they ask is do I have Facebook. I say no. They say how about a college page, LinkedIn, anything. I say no. They look at each other and say well their company likes to “feel comfortable” with their new hires’ background but I don’t seem to have any. They’re not saying I’ve done anything wrong but when someone has no Facebook, it looks like they have something to hide
    Seriously, you can’t win

[ONE]
    The airplane climbed and Wil waited for the chopper to shoot at them, or crash into them, or explode for no reason, who knew. But minutes passed with nothing but the drone of the engines and the night spreading out ahead. “Are we clear?” he asked Tom, or T. S. Eliot, or whoever he was, and Eliot said nothing, but Wil thought they were. Exhaustion dumped into him all at once: One minute he was in fear for his life, the next he wanted to sleep. “I’m going to sit down, okay?” He made his way down the plane. He reached seats and collapsed into one. He should buckle up. But the buckles were so far away.
    He opened his eyes to daylight. The world bumped and shook. He clutched at the armrests, his head full of half-remembered dreams. A girl with bad words. A kangaroo. The engines were wailing. Beyond the round windows he saw snow and wooden fence posts and these seemed very close and moving too fast. The note of the engines changed and they began to shed speed. The world slowed and stopped. Eliot emerged from the cockpit, flipped open a panel on the fuselage, and began to crank the door.
    “Where are we?”
    Eliot kept cranking. The door became a series of steps and he trotted down them.
    Wil got to his feet. He was not thrilled about heading out into the snow again, but he did it. Eliot stood at the side of the road, urinating. Wil looked around. The blacktop stretched out as far as he could see. Power lines marched alongside. There was nothing else.
    “Nice landing,” Wil said. He got nothing from Eliot but a steady stream of urine. “Where are we?”
    Eliot zipped and walked a short distance down the road. Wil went after him. The plane was very modern, he noticed,