The Angle

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In lieu of an abstract, below is the essay's first paragraph.

"On a warm day in mid-September, Anthony Cambiato, dressed in black, bell-bottomed jeans, a glowing green sport shirt, blue denim jacket and white sneakers, stood across from the tallest building on North Avenue, cupping in his dirty hand a small shred of paper which prescribed his entire future, from the present until the day he died. His legs ached from the long walk and a single drop of perspiration slid down his side, hiding in the elastic band of his underwear. Had this been a normal autumn, he would be queued somewhere in a foul-smelling hall, clutching those multicolored administrative forms, which when filled out and filed, endowed him with the right to learn. But that was a thing of the past - fourteen years was enough. He spat on the sidewalk and flattened the white foam with his heel."

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