I am a communist. I am a writer. Did someone say rejection. The Shibboleth. “Waiting Times” are measured in years. They’re ghosting you. Rejection is when your agent hasn’t called you ever. But you keep waiting because you are a writer and you have hope. Hope is a rarity as an element in the universe. No one has ever seen it, but we hope it’s there. Rejection is life. Some college students know this. Many college students are about to find out. Some will go into shock (no, they don’t like you). Some will cry (no, they don’t like you). Hubris is irrelevant. Some will become marginalized. You will be fired. You will have money. You will lose it. You will have stuff. You will have more stuff. By thirty, you will be diseased. You will have children. Sit down. How much money do you really have. Wee ones are born as neanderthals. Neanderthals are expensive to maintain. Sieves and filtering the thievery out. I know this: It’s not going to be about you. Have you learned the value of rendering yourself as invaluable. Why are you here. When did you start giving back. Who do you think you are, and what do you want, and exactly how far will you go to get it. Write me one word as to what privilege means. College is a privilege. I never went to school. I started working at 12. Caste and class. When did you buy your first suit. Your uniform of choice. I have news for you. In ten years, there will be no schools. There will be camps. You will be forced on the train with everybody else.