It's one hundred and one An introduction A survey Without a shirt No point of comparison No grades will be given Invidious thoughts banished As the fruit blends A cool drink of hauteur Poured out on the grass Softly swinging Among fishing poles Log rolls Watercraft shoals Scampering senses Autodidactic Veblen's curse: The notion that there's no escape There may be no other way But there are more ways Blowing in the winds Foot partly on the ground