She has a knack for inserting herself into his life. He does not like her, and yet she is already in view. To call her a storm on the horizon is to unnecessarily poetize the most unpoetic of all. He wishes she would leave. He met her years ago. She remained beneath his radar year after year until his friend told him what she said. He dreamed of strangling her with a towel. She’s a liar and a cheat. And although he’s uncertain about the word cur, he thinks it must apply to her. She is an intellectual mongrel and impostor who already has a full-time job. She’s written what must, at best, be pure shit. At this point, she will most likely be a doctor who can fulfill several departmental quota. He wishes her nothing but the best, which he hopes would negate something of her pure negativity. He wishes she were forever elsewhere, out of sight.