Stranded on campus. Pleas for a charitable ride home after a 10:00 pm seminar fall upon the robotic ears of an aswering machine. So I walk toward the library. Several students trekking the opposite direction in efforts for public transportation to deliver them to their doorsteps and away from their daily schooling. A girl, face unnoticed, whisks by me. Suddenly, her aroma sends signals through my nose and brain and heart. Thousands of micro-memories flush back into my head. I recognize the scent. That smell is bottled in many department stores. Some girls sample and decline. Others purchase and spray the scent onto their skin each morning. Others rub the scent onto me, onto my face, onto my lips, when they kiss me.

My heart didn't cry this time like it would have weeks ago. Instead I smiled, recalled a few magic moments, felt fortunate that I could store them in such a benficial way, one that won't plague me to yearn for the past, but one that will allow me to appreciate the past as it guides me toward a prosperous future.

So I kept walking. Up the stairs into the isolation chambers of the library. Rushing to read the excerpts from the book I only purchased this afternoon, still possessing that new book smell. Clock speeds up, robs me of time. Class in twenty minutes. Twenty minutes away from three hours of discussion, lecture, and debate. Unprepared, not in the most ignorant sense, but in an unconfident manner. Tis better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt. Tonight I will probably absorb information rather than disperse. By the end, hopefully I'll have a means to snatch me from my intellectual surroundings and release me back to my peaceful comfort of home.