COMING OF AGE IN THE SURVEILLANCE STATE Claire Hermann Someone is watching, always watching: God, or the NSA, or the disappointed eyes of our fathers, saying, “I thought you were better than this.” The phone in the dorm room clicks and echoes. Flat-voiced TSA agents pat my underwire with blue-gloved hands. National Guardsmen wear AR-15s and film us in the street. I wave to the cameras. The tests have no key. The rules are changing. Unknown algorithms twist words like wires till they ignite.
HERMANN ∫ 29