He's so condescending. No, patronizing. No, I don't know. I bow my head and keep taking notes. The shadow from my head eclipses the page. Why does he turn the lights off? He knows we have to write down all the shit he says. The light from the projector is never enough. He says something about Baudelaire. Charles Baudelaire, who wrote the obituary of the artist we're studying. He flicks on a light, shuffles through some papers.
