The mind of the undergraduate.

... I looked at the clock. I'd slept all night and morning, through most of the last meeting of my freshman class.

I struggled back into my preworn clothing, my pretied shoes, ran to the anthropology building, and rushed upstairs to the airless classroom. Only one of my sixteen students remained. He sat alone at his desk, writing in his notebook with a ballpoint pen. He looked up, astonished at my arrival.

"Professor Engstrand."

"Angus."

"I'm almost done."

"Done with what? Where did they all go?"

He blinked twice. He looked frightened.

"Tell me what happened, Angus."

"We met and waited for you, sir. Sat in our places. But you didn't come. No one said anything. Half an hour passed. Then someone suggested that your absence might represent some new form of final exam. Some arcane and menacing form, I believe those were the exact words. We laughed nervously at first. But one by one we opened our notebooks. Began attempting to answer the question you were posing. That's why it's a little unsettling to see you here, sir. I was almost finished. The others handed in their papers to the department secretary. May I ask you a question, sir?"

"Yes, Angus."

"Does this mean I failed?"

"No, Angus. There's no time limit. Hand it in when you're done."