Vag smiled to himself as he adjusted the shower curtain and tested the water with his elbow. This was Thesis Day. He had noticed the red circle on his calendar as he slipped from his bunk that morning, and there was something expectant in the blue sky outside the window. Or perhaps he was expectant. He forced himself under the cold water to ready his wits for the long day ahead. He always thought better with his pores closed.

Rushing into his socks and shoelaces, he considered his shirt. It should be stimulating in view of the Big Day, and he fingered through the pile of pinks and yellows, No, what he needed was something else, and he put on a size 14, starched, button down--certainly stimulating and well nigh painful.

Now he was just abut ready. He really should wear suspenders, but he would postpone that until chapter two; for the time being, he would have to keep seated. Vag carefully centered the blotters on the desk top, blew the dust off the top of the inkwell, and scratched his head. Oh yes, the foolscap, Rushing down to the corner, holding his pants up with one hand, he piked up his tuxedo and 100 sheets of watermarked bond. Cleaned and pressed they were; he piled them on his bed, but placed a whisk broom drawer , brought out and unlocked a small steel case, and took from it 12 carefully sharpened pencils. He left the cuff links in the bottom and relocked the case. He was ready to begin.

Settling himself to the chair he filled his pen and carefully lettered "Page One" on the upper let corner and "First" on the upper right, but no more, for another possibility crossed his mind. What if he should work through lunch? He set the alarm for noon and folded it under his pillow, then returned to the desk. "First Draft" he finished. He should note the time he started; getting out of his chair, he uncovered the alarm clock and noted the time, wound it tight and recovered it. Filling in the time, Vag thought a footnote was needed and moved down to the bottom of the page. "Ibid" he wrote. He would fix that up later.

With the preliminaries out of the way, he wondered what to write about. The trouble seemed to be in clearing the ground. Perhaps he could do that better once his ideas were formulated and accordingly, he took a fresh sheet and numbered it "20". "In view of the factors outlined above," he began, "we will proceed to demonstrate that the customary explanations will not hold water." He had finally come to the point where he needed an idea. The Library was the place to go; but first he had to pick out his suspenders. Then he would walk to the Library. He looped a string around his finger just to make sure.