Waddling across campus carrying the package through backpacks and armies of sprinklers, smearing some sharpie ink onto my palms and somehow getting it on my face before the end of the walk. 

It was my second trip.  On the first one I had to get a little assertive with the student assistant over a packaging issue while uncompressed tarball winced and cowered. (God how I hate that).  Now I was standing on the median while parts  of the First Surrealist Manifesto trailed through my head, going "lusterless fate, lusterless fate" under the whir of speeding cars. 

These are normal components of a Hilary summer.  I looked out into the crowd, worrying briefly, and wondered if I would ever beat my own matchless record at avoiding name deleted while walking through the DIA while he was working.  Or was that my peak moment of evasive action? 

Now, I thought, breaking off a piece of my PBJ.

So I fed some crust to a seagull while hovering over her like a big, smiling predator.  Then we glided on, me and the seagull,  and I used some rhetoric on myself while the sharpie dried out in the sun.