Third day of classes, and I’m back in the mindset of a careful sponge. I try not to sound too pedantic or too shy, roll my eyes at the list of journals we’re supposed to look up to develop good study habits, hang my attention on the space between the proff’s lips and teeth, trying to catch his drift before he elaborates. I am both new and old. Gone are the days when I walked into a classroom and recognized no one. Now it is only a matter or remembering where I have seen these people. In one class are a boy from my hometown and a boy I met at the Big Haus, a girl whose band I interviewed for an article in the school paper and another boy, an ex-classmate of a friend, who we watched The Usual Suspects with us the night Bess and I got hit by a drunk driver. I don’t imagine they remember me. I lean across the aisle and say hi to one of them. I’m right.

Despite the farmilliarity I am not heartbroken to be still at UI. Yesterday afternoon I liotered downtown, buying a baguette and cheese with Ash, sitting on a bench and eating almost the whole thing in the mild chill of an odd January. I like that I can do that in this town, and then walk home in the drizzle.

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