The tips of my fingers were also strangely numb. Peeking under the bottomof my blindfold at my hands, I could just make out long, bright redfingernail.... And when I turned my head to look, I could feel long strandsof hair falling across my face. So apparently I was also wearing a wig.I searched my head, hoping to remember what had happened last night. LikeI said--friends, shots, a hot hooker in the street, then nothing. Idesperately tried to remember something, anything, but the pain in myballs. I glanced over at Brittany and she was writing in her literary journal. I supposed I could do the same. I opened it.“Jacob? What is your assessment of Marc Antony’s argument?” Ms. Levy asked. Damn! I need to put together a coherent thought that doesn’t include salsa dancing with Brittany yesterday.“Oh. Well, I don’t think it was very good. In fact, it shows everything about why it is futile to argue. He has a few points that contradict what Brutus said at the beginning of the scene, but mostly. More

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