It could have been little more than a week ago--two weeks at the most--when the Vagabond found himself leaning back in a chair, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, holding a book. He had the book in his lap, but reading he was not. He was Contemplating. Staring into and beyond the passers-by, feeling the fluorescent lighting of Lamont beat down on the back of his neck, the Vagabond merged himself slowly with his surroundings. The Kentucky Derby, the Term Bill, the grey flannels that needed pressing--all worldly items left his mind as he felt himself received into an aesthetic oneness with Lamont, its books, and fresh, circulating air. The book slid from his grasp, down his leg to stop inside his pants cuff, the last mundane thought slipped from his conscious. Vag was having an aesthetic experience.

It seemed to him that he had never been filled with such peculiar feelings. Conscious that his roommate would want to know where he had been, he did his best to account for the experience. But the moment was too full--thought was impossible and Vag found the new sensation delightful indeed. He was aware that any attempted thought would break the spell immediately. This was the moment for which he was meant. Dropping deeper into the aesthetic whole, he toyed with one shoelace in an effort to prolong the experience, but all of a sudden, the experience was over. The alarm bell sounded. Time was up.

Fighting his way back to the cool present. Vag felt as though some one had just taken away his popcorn at the start of a double feature. The library had to close but time was of no matter to him. Neither was thought, and be dwelt deliciously on the experience. Never had he felt more perfectly in tune with his surroundings, and he made a mental note to tell his barber all about it. But no time for that now--the barbershop was closed, and more important, his aesthetic experience had been interrupted. Throwing the tie around his neck, searl fashion, he stalked out of Lamont and set off to find a good, stiff Pernod.