After Hours
By Rob Rosen
Pre-law. Midwestern liberal arts college. Classes ran the educational gamut: political science, philosophy, English, nothing I couldn’t handle. Still, I had to take at least one science or math class in order to get my degree. Math was out. My GPA couldn’t tolerate what was sure to be a less than stellar grade. So I opted for Biology. I knew my ass from my elbow, so I thought I had a fair shot at it. Easy enough in high school, anyway.
Then again, college wasn’t high school. And asses and elbows weren’t on the syllabus.
Meaning, I was f****d. Royally. And no lube for miles.
Still, there was one saving grace. Professor Marks may have been a hard grader, but he was easy on the eye. Tall, thin, scruffy, always wearing those tweed jackets, bow ties, loose slacks,
