for echo is the soul of the voice exciting itself in hollow places
“I”-the man standing in the middle of the agora looks so pleased with himself, any statement that follows must surely be capped off with a sweeping bow-”should be attending a staff meeting right now. It's a bit like cutting that first class, the moment of exhilaration when you finally permit yourself to believe you've gotten away with it.”
Alan appears to have shed most of the unease that comes with having one's worldview-the word strikes him now as inadequate, short-sighted-wrenched from its moorings. Or maybe the opportunity to address an as-yet-unseen but indisputably present audience has a calming effect.
“I'm not in the habit of seeking out advice-I so seldom take it, and in those rare instances when I do, it tends to be implemented in such a fashion as to reflect poorly on the advice-giver.” He's paying more heed to the acoustics-playing with them, really, pausing to drink in the sound of his voice redounding off stone-than whatever he happens to be saying. “So, an icebreaker: where are you from, and which part of this fair city reminds you most of home? No need to answer sequentially.”
Alan appears to have shed most of the unease that comes with having one's worldview-the word strikes him now as inadequate, short-sighted-wrenched from its moorings. Or maybe the opportunity to address an as-yet-unseen but indisputably present audience has a calming effect.
“I'm not in the habit of seeking out advice-I so seldom take it, and in those rare instances when I do, it tends to be implemented in such a fashion as to reflect poorly on the advice-giver.” He's paying more heed to the acoustics-playing with them, really, pausing to drink in the sound of his voice redounding off stone-than whatever he happens to be saying. “So, an icebreaker: where are you from, and which part of this fair city reminds you most of home? No need to answer sequentially.”