I'm giving the bike back. As of tonight, David has taken to his bed, clutching a tattered copy of Kierkegaard's journals. He refuses to work. The sandwiches are cold. The Mermaid kitchen is in tatters. Charlie went to visit him (not to shake him down for change) and reported that he is lying around in his boxers, intermittently opening up his window and sticking his head out in the rain/sleet/snow. Apparently, he hopes to contract pneumonia and die. Just to get back at us. Well, he can die for no reason, then, because his bike is in the basement of Mermaid. Now if I can just convince Colin that it's over before it's too late.
Shannon called to try to cheer him up and get him to go out for a drink. He quoted thus, "Listen to the cry of a woman in labor at the hour of giving birth - look at the dying man's struggle at his last extremity, and then tell me whether something that begins and ends thus could be intended for enjoyment. " Some people should not be allowed to read philosphy. More to come.
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