Part of the charm of this book lies in the repeatability of the experiment described. Not that each yearbook replicates the previous year's, but we see how each role. is more or less filled: class clown, best dressed most likely to succeed, those who join chess club, those who take shop and always those who remain unphotograped. We envy these last, the children who leave only their names, as if to say "We are not part of this". Wheter failures or revolutionaries is hard to say, our concepts of failure and revolutionary being vague at best, each one melting into other in such a society where failure is itself revolutionary, a rejection of history and culture. But it is with fondness we recall these deviates, their unchanging names where their faces might have been, these fools and outsiders with their leathers or snap-on ties, drug-bent minds and bleached blond girl friends from another school who wore too much make-up and turquoise jewerly, these daughters of alcoholics and hill men. Beautiful in the way outsiders are beautiful, the stray dogs who snap and yip and come, finaly to our hands, the child who watches us from the far corner, scribbling with crayons a picture of exactly who we are. ㅤㅤ
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