This Too Shall Pass
When I visit the kitchen to study at night, the dog stares me down like I've entered her exclusive realm. Of course, it may also be residual spite for bumping her in the ass with the swing of the door on a few occasions. Of all learned responses, this mysteriously remains beyond Pavlovian.
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The donut shop is alive nightly with the flutter of teenage calorie seekers. Gaggles of teen girls descend in sweat pants and terry cloth ready to devour the night's production. Quieter Stanford students hunch over spiral bound hand outs memorizing obscure medical facts. The tables fill quickly with taxi drivers who pound the table, sigh, and talk excitedly to each other on break; young punks sneaking out for a maple frosted; bums. Others downloading dubious content and chatting on IM are tethered to the edges. If you visit early enough the chess players show up with board and speed-clock in hand, perhaps the only people carrying equipment who don't have to vie for a wall socket. Luckily for me, tottering through Calculus requires no power outlets, only distractions.
--Posted 08/11/04 03:45AM