Dave, Clemens and I went for a bikeride which transmogrified into a slow
stroll around the University of Chicago campus where we sat on a bench among
crinkly fallen leaves smoking cigarettes and corncob pipes full of the
Northwest's finest. A bride's veil billowed behind her in the breeze, curious
squirrels approached
me for a light, and fellow believer Samir asked if that were a
utilikilt I was twirling
in. What else could it be? After marking a whispering arch with instructions
in chalk, we walked by the post-modern-neo-gothic cathedral where I jumped
off a ledge and made a huge sound when my feet hit. I couldn't believe it--this
must be better acoustics even than the whispering arch! I stamped my feet
again but this time it was nothing much. It slowly dawned on me and Clemens
that what had happened was an incredible coincidence--unseen to us a backhoe
had dumped its first load of broken concrete into a metal bin, the broken
rock resounding at the precise instant when my feet had hit the sidewalk.
Cosmic. |
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