`I asked one of my patients to bring them back from Miami,' Hasselbacher said. He took from his pocket two miniature bottles of whisky: one was Lord Calvert, the other Old Taylor. `Have you got them?' he asked with anxiety.

`I've got the Calvert, but not the Taylor. It was kind of you to remember my collection, Hasselbacher.' It always seemed strange to Wormold that he continued to exist for others when he was not there.

—Graham Greene in Our Man in Havana

Last night was a night for music. At 8:30 I caught Mark & Matt's guitar performance the Expresso Royale Cafe, and talkd to Chris who mentioned that Fons Tuinstra stayed at their Eugene Debbs co-op during his time in Ann Arbor. On the way to the Blind Pig, I stopped by the West Side Book Shop to pick up a copy of Our Man in Havana, and wolfed down a quick cheeseburger at the Fleetwood. When I arrived, John introduced me to his friends, we watched the last few minutes of the Pistons game, and then danced—maybe `swayed' is more accurate—our way through performances by jam band Nomo and indie rockers Saturday Looks Good To Me.

I had a good time over-all. We were all exhausted by the time the night ended, I think that the concert started late due to the triple-overtime of the Pistons game. I'm getting better at making light conversation, I think that's one of the advantages of going to a large public school where you meet new people every day.

If I haven't written in a while it's because I'm working on finishing up some reading and writing for a couple classes. It's been tough, I'm still not used to writing so much. I'm driving myself with Romans 13 (thanks Andri, though notice it says "submit to" and not "obey").