On Friday, the final day of conferences, two infectiously bubbly students dialed him early. A special request. (“Actually, sir, can the two of us come in together? We sort of have plans for the afternoon.”) They insisted he let them bring him something from Holmes. His joint review of their highly successful semester’s work was enlivened by his tongue swirling its first sip of a new latte. It was, they educated him, a recent gourmet addition from that place he was avoiding.
“Mr. P! You don’t go there? Only thirty seconds away. Cool place, newly fixed up.”
“Well, then. I’ll put it on my list” (he mimed pulling out an electronic pocket
planner and tapping it “done”).
“List, Sir?”
“My list. See here?–” he mimed pointing to an imaginary screen, “quote, ‘things my students tell me I have t
