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  • A fire drill in our apartment's dorm led us outside to the bitter cold. Eager to escape the wind, we trundled over to the closest building, an old science laboratory. The door was unlocked, still open for the custodial staff to clean up after a day's worth of experiments and students. Climbing up the stairs, we wove our way to the physics lecture hall.

    We turned on all the lights in the hall and gazed at the clean, untouched blackboard. It was ready to be written. In cursive script, I etched out a rendition of Wallace Steven's "Anecdote of the Jar," hoping the tired nerds of tomorrow's 8:30 would get a chance to feast their eyes upon his eternal words.
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