So if there's one other thing I've learned from all this Flushing-bound work this summer, it's that maybe, just maybe, there's hope for the young--it's too late for me, too short and too young amidst these hairy barbarians, the brainiac who took up sports less than a year ago, with no chinky peers against whom to compete but also breathe a sigh of relief that someone else can take up part of the yellow man's burden which is to do better than the white man but not actually outdo him--who bounce basketballs, who wear cut-off sleeves though straight, who rap, who are noisy, who read Harry Potter, who kibitz, who do not read on the train, who are happy to hang out with all Asians, but also all not.