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I mean I've left schools and places I didn't even know I was leaving them. I don't care if it's a sad good-by or a bad goodby, but when I leave a place I like to know I'm leaving it. I suddenly remembered this time, in around October, that I and Robert Tichener and Paul Campbell were chucking a football around, in front of the academic building. It was just before dinner and it was getting pretty dark out, but we kept chucking the ball around anyway. Zambesi, stuck his head out of this window in the academic building and told us to go back to the dorm and get ready for dinner. and came out here for all these goddam checkups and stuff. Anyway, as soon as I got my breath back I ran across Route 204. I don't even know what I was running for--I guess I just felt like it. It kept getting darker and darker, and we could hardly see the ball any more, but we didn't want to stop doing what we were doing. If I get a chance to remember that kind of stuff, I can get a good-by when I need one--at least, most of the time I can. I ran all the way to the main gate, and then I waited a second till I got my breath. I'm quite a heavy smoker, for one thing--that is, I used to be. Another thing, I grew six and a half inches last year. After I got across the road, I felt like I was sort of disappearing. "C'mon, c'mon," I said right out loud, almost, "somebody open the door." Finally old Mrs.

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You could see the whole field from there, and you could see the two teams bashing each other all over the place. He had the grippe, and I figured I probably wouldn't see him again till Christmas vacation started. They gave me frequent warning to start applying myself--especially around midterms, when my parents came up for a conference with old Thurmer--but I didn't do it. The more expensive a school is, the more crooks it has--I'm not kidding. He wrote me this note saying he wanted to see me before I went home. Anyway, I kept standing next to that crazy cannon, looking down at the game and freezing my ass off. What I was really hanging around for, I was trying to feel some kind of a good-by. All of a sudden I thought of something that helped make me know I was getting the hell out. He just kept talking about Life being a game and all. Life is a game that one plays according to the rules." "Yes, sir. But if you get on the other side, where there aren't any hot-shots, then what's a game about it?

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