by S.M. Street

A faculty lounge conversation led to a year’s full-time appointment, then another two at a state-university branch where I’d taught as adjunct for several years. When the department underwent a chain of command change, the new Chair was a Joyce scholar. I’d seen him in the halls, but we’d never met. I introduced myself on a day I was teaching The Dead. In class, I’d shown parts of the John Huston film.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t really come off,” said Dr. Squirrel, as I’ll call him because he liked to eat nuts, which he brought in small plastic bags and kept in the refrigerator. “I have serious problems with the casting—Gabriel should be older—though the cinematography is downright brilliant in spots.”

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