BACK at the table, Roger snarled at someone else who waved hello at him. "That guy goes to class," he said, "at ten o'clock in the morning!"

I asked Roger what he did with himself. "Not much," he replied. "Movies-many, many movies. I spend a lot of time at the movies. I don't even care what movie. Goodbye, Mr. Chips, The Sterile Cuckoo, Lost in the Fog... "

"Lost in the Fog? That's not a movie."

"Yes, well, perhaps you're right," said Roger. "So, anyhow. I see a lot of movies. And then, sometimes, I get lost in the fog. And I go to the bathroom a lot. And I walk around the Common late at night looking for dead dogs, sometimes simultaneously pulling snot out of my nose with a paper clip."

"Are things that bad?"

"What do you mean, that bad? That good, man. That's good!"

"This coffee is shit," I said.

"Now you're talking," said Roger. He was speaking quite rapidly now. "But you haven't heard the best part yet. Yesterday, I wrote a paper. And tomorrow, I am writing another paper. And Friday, I am going to smoke dope and go to bed with some girl. And Saturday, I am going to another movie. And Sunday, I am going to church. And Monday, I am going to a class. And Tuesday..."

"WHAT'S WRONG, ROGER?" I think I was yelling.

"Nothing. Really, nothing. I am not depressed. I am not happy. I would like to see these cripples sent off to a farm somewhere, but that is it."

"That's it?"

"Yes. And I am very bored, and I don't know what I am going to do after I graduate. And I want to go to Guatemala."

"Guatemala?"

"Or Brooklyn. Oh, one other thing. I sleep very well, I get lots of sleep."

"I don't see how you find the time."

"Oh, yes, I get plenty of sleep. Only one problem there, and I can't quite explain it."

"What's that?" I asked.

"Nothing, actually. It's just that every nigh-like clockwork at four a.m.-I wake up, jump out of bed, and scream my lungs out."