Because the paper involved no new work on my part beyond running it once more through the typewriter, I was charging Diane Blumberg $25 for it. Original papers come higher; masters and doctoral theses cost up to a thousand dollars. This is not terribly high, considering the time and effort I put into my work, but it is the sort of work I enjoy. The income it provides, added to the $112 monthly disability pension which the government pays me for my permanent insomnia, is sufficient unto my needs.

“…of incest as a humorous component,” I typed. “Ophelia’s madness and its sexual overtones, seen in this light…” And the telephone rang.

I answered it. A young man said, “Mr. Tanner? My name is Jeff Lind. A friend suggested that I get in touch with you.”

“Oh?”

“Could I come up and see you?”

“What about?”

“I’m enrolled at Columbia. There’s… uh… something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Go ahead.”

“Huh? Well, I’d rather not go into it over the phone.”

“No one from Columbia has a tap on my phone. At least I don’t think-”

“Would it be all right if I come up to your apartment?”

“Not before noon.”

“Well-”

“I’ll be busy until then.”

“All right,” he said. I asked if he had my address. He said he did, and that he would see me at noon. I finished up Diane Blumberg’s term paper, put it in an envelope, and went downstairs to mail it to her. I picked up my own mail on the way back and carted it upstairs. There was the usual glut of pamphlets and magazines and newspapers, a batch of appeals for donations, and a good bit of foreign correspondence.