Testing the H-Bomb

The study of a desperate, desperate man

Her: “Alright. I heard that you were from Harvard. My Mom works at Merrill Lynch and she hires a lot of Harvard guys. They always seemed nice. But if you want to be left alone…”

Me: “Merrill Lynch? No. No, not at all! Please join me.”

Her: “Hmmm. Nah. I think I’m going to go. My friends are leaving anyways.”

Me: “Please stay! Or, at least, give me your number and we could meet up tomorrow…”

Her: “Actually, I really have to run.”


Me: “Does your Mom have a number?”

Trial 5:

Me: “Hey. So can you tell me more about that ‘harder stuff’ you were talking about earlier?”

Recording stops.

Discussion and Analysis:

I can’t remember too much after that. I think I may have hooked up with a couch pillow and fallen asleep.

The H-bomb exploded that night. It may have done so in my face. But it definitely exploded. It’s really a powerful tool. And I think we all can see that…that…at least I go to Harvard.

God, I'm lonely.

Dashiell F. Young-Saver ’16, a Crimson editorial writer, is an English concentrator in Winthrop House. His column appears on alternate Fridays.