Today, I was sitting in a tea shop facing a dripping, thundering Massachusetts Avenue, the shower head of Boston was turning on and off and on again over people dripping with the sweat that comes with the humidity that lingers from 90 degree days, and I was drinking eight-treasure tea, and waiting for my Curious Monkey Wrap, and I had just finished my interview with Professor Hubel, who likes Bach, plays piano, is from Montreal, who doesn't think Boston's winter is cold, and spent a summer at the Salk Institute writing papers while wondering why he wasn't out on the beach instead, an interview to which I ran full speed down Quincy, through the Yard and up Prescott in five minutes from the Discussion with Faculty where the kids on my floor were discussing the idea of identity and change, to meet Hubel as he just began to open his door and welcome me in, an interview which supplemented my application for Professor Hubel's seminar on the Neurophysiology of Visual Perception, and I was staring out the window, The Wanderer in one hand and eight treasures in the other and such a daft smile on my face.
This is the best morning I've had in a long time.
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