The phone rings.

"Coffee at midnight? Pamplona?"

Well, I really shouldn't...

"But we'll work so much better later on if we just take a break."

Of course I'll come.

The phone rings again. We discuss the past 10 minutes. We discuss how much work we have to do. We discuss our papers. We decide that going for coffee will make us think more clearly, how it will save us time in the long run.

I save my paper, and decide what to wear to Pamplona. My favorite green sweater. This is an event. I've been staring at the computer screen for too long. Going for coffee will save me time in the long run.

Finally, midnight arrives. We meet on Mass. Ave. and walk to Pamplona, both carrying draft copies of our papers. We'll be intellectual even while we take a break, away from the ominous blinking of the Macintosh, reminding me that every word I type is making the paper more overdue.

Down the stairs into the dark, smoky, vaguely Spanish atmosphere of Cafe Pamplona. It is crowded. The small, round tables are filled with eclectic groupings--several European-looking men sit alone, smoking and staring reflectively. Their coffee cups are perched on stacks of papers. I imagine the manuscript of their latest play, or the translation of a Marguerite Duras novel.

Couples are scattered around the room, waiters dressed in impeccable GQ style saunter over to take their orders. Other students, reserve reading from Lamont placed carelessly on the table, are absorbed in conversation. The food is expensive. Everyone, it seems, is drinking coffee.

We order. I usually get tea--Earl Grey with milk and honey. But tonight demands coffee, strong and dark. With only a little cream. It's psychological, not the caffeine. The cups at Pamplona are heavy, my energy is absorbed in the act of drinking. Our conversation is frantic, fueled by nervous energy and lack of sleep.

The two partly-finished papers rest on the table. Our eyes dart back and forth, unwilling to assume the academic guise so soon after leaving the computer. This is our time, we say, our break. We shouldn't have to think about work.

But, after the coffee arrives, we trade drafts. My friend is writing a profile of Robert Coles; I have chosen "The China Lobby in American Life" as my topic. I grab a pen and scrawl nervously in the margins of her paper.

We aren't griping about homework anymore.

Now we discuss anything, everything. Somehow everything fits together--we move from our papers to writing in general to Harvard relationships to our families. Everything makes sense, at least for 10 minutes. Everything fits together. It is timeless, though our coffee is getting cold.