Even in the Math and Computer building, where I work, you can hear singing, occasionally. Five minutes before the beginning of the weekend, I hear a student trooping down the stairs, singing a soul aria and making use of the concrete and stucco acoustics to produce a lovely echo. It's as good as any song sung in a tunnel.
Why is it small things like this that make me believe there is hope for the world?
Erin is in Chicago this weekend, visiting her mother and step-father and attending a cousin's wedding. I can't make it out due to work commitments, and we're going to miss each other. Oh, well. At least it's only a weekend. Erin and I used to be separated by an international border for weeks at a time. The only good thing about it was that it made our trips to see each other that much more intense. And there will be a good spark when Erin returns on Monday. Absense makes the heart grow fonder.