Reading.

Every day in class we take time to read. I really don't care what my students read, as long as their eyes are silently going left to right for twenty minutes a day.

I picked up a book that I typically don't read, but I'm engaged. Frankenstein. "Frantenstein?" you ask. "Ah, Mary Shelley's classic," you slur with slightly closed eyes, slowly nursing a Dr. Pepper in your left hand.

"No," I say. "Dean, . . . cough. . .Koontz."

You lean forward. I hear the ice in the drink hit the walls of the glass. "Koontz?"

"Yep."

"You ever read the original?"

"No!" I say over confidently, as if my choice of a contemporary author is much more important than any one-time phenom.

"Hm."

"What, just because he's . . . popular?"

"He's a sell-out"

"Do you know what a sell out is?"

"Dean Koontz."

"No," I say. "Dean Koontz is not a sell out. You are a sell out."

"Me?" you query.

"Yes, you," I say.

"Why me?" you say, draining the rest of the Dr. Pepper.

"Oh, I don't know. You just are," I smile.

We high five. Get up. Gets some fritos, then watch T.V.

Don't you love easy reads?