at davis library, I’m pittering with work, but I’m not in the same kind of zone that everyone else in here is, because I’m free, home free, going home today free. being somewhat detached from the davis atmosphere (and listening to janis joplin) gives me greater leisure to observe the human geography here. I’ll tell you which kind I find most fascinating: the letter-crested poet boys. I don’t see them anywhere else on campus, this type, except maybe smoking around the flag pole or striding briskly out of greenlaw, hands tucked into a probably wool cardigan. they all have large woody-allen glasses and wear cuffed jeans, beat-up keds and letter jackets (and, if all goes well, they have a symmetrical mustache). I describe the anthropology of these boys not to generalize but because I sit across the library from them and wonder if it’s true; if they really read allen ginsberg over breakfast with yellow light stealing across the pages like I imagine they do.

the past two days have been heaven and one day, when I’m not as completely starstruck as I am and distracted by the new daffodils and promise of going home, I’ll describe them.