So it seems a little more obvious that I should leave whatever books I’m reading presently––Guest of a Sinner, Go Tell It on the Mountain––at home as I truck off to the city. I’ve been falling asleep during breaks right there in the dining atrium, in those happy little shopping mall-like colors, calling to mind a Southern California Chick-Fil-A, little placards at each booth reminding everybody to toss their refuse in the receptacles. And I assume writing in my notebook might keep me awake: I don’t remember falling asleep writing while still in pedagogical caresses, but that was another thing entirely.

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