In my sophomore year, the school hired some foreign teachers to teach us English. Our class was taught by a chubby American guy with black-rimmed glasses, who was quite funny. During the first class, he asked us how we would like to take the class. I sang like a ruffian: no more teachers no more books. The class is almost over, but he doesn't know what time the get out of class ends. I half-stretched and continued singing: hey, School out forever. He suddenly turned to look at me: yeah but class ain't over and it ain't summer now. I almost didn't laugh. He had listened to Alice Cooper's music and was so happy.
Then I became friends with him, and we occasionally chat about rock music.
A classmate gave a presentation. The classmate wanted to express something like rebellion and resistance, but he used the wrong word. The teacher then commented: You are not very good with this betray, it will give me a feeling of treason.
He went on to say, I hope you use that word better. He turned around and started writing on the blackboard.
I know what he is going to write. I was suddenly a little excited, my right hand rested uncontrollably on my right chin, my left hand was uncontrollably pinched into an orchid shape, my body leaned back uncontrollably, and Erlang’s legs also twisted uncontrollably. I hummed carelessly:
“Rebel Rebel, You torn your dress.”
He also turned around subconsciously, laughed subconsciously, said "yeah" subconsciously, and finally hummed subconsciously:
"Rebel Rebel, you face is a mess."
On a sleepy morning, no one knew what we were singing and talking about.
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