November 07, 2001

Took a micro-trip to OSU last week for their annual booksale and stopped on the way back to my car at the luxuriously-appointed faculty hall, drawn in by the sight of statuary and art. I tried to check out the pieces without giving myself away as a faculty wannabe. I slipped into their private library, checked out the book selection and made my way downstairs to the "Colleagues Bar" where rows and rows of perfectly arranged liquors of every description waited for a faculty member's nod and made me suddenly thirsty.

On my way back, at 2nd & High Street, a pair of black gentlemen in their 40s were engaged in fisticuffs. It was a hypnotizing sight, two fully grown men swinging wildly at each other on a Friday afternoon. Perhaps they lacked jobs and needed the discipline of the daily grind to squeeze the life, er, aggression out of them. The driver ahead of me honked her horn and the two men stopped fighting, as if they'd heard a police siren. Then they shook hands.

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