*today Laertes is in a cafe pondering that age-old question: why must students know less than their instructors? as he marks another abysmal paper and sets it down in the pile beside his coffee cup, he reflects upon this most basic of human inequalities.*

*it's been a rather hectic bus trip from the airport; rather than going straight home, Laertes has plucked up Bernardo and taken him to the middle of town--they've got a date with the local community musical, in which his daughter is to sing as Young Cossette*

*with some cajoling, Laertes has convinced Bernardo to take a hotel room with him for a weekend's trip--the place he chooses is on the Danish coast, but not near any popular beaches; it's mostly a quiet, working-class sort of town, not the place where tourists go*

*it's been nearly eight months since last he visited Bernardo; he still writes letters regularly, mostly about what he's been writing or thinking--recognizes that Bernardo might not want to hear about his family, although they remain the most important part of his life. he'll end his most recent letter with I miss you, and post it*

*Grenoble is only a few hours away from Avignon; it's quite easy to follow the river south and then simply be in the square before the Palace of the Popes--he'll turn to Bernardo, smiling as they leave the shade of a tree* What do you think--should we play tourists, or would you like to wander around as though you were a local?

continued from here.

Of course, it's a matter of technique as much as location.

*theirs is not a large house, and not in perfect repair--but it does have a small yard and more than one room, and it's only a minute or so of brisk jogging from the river. it is also, at this moment, mostly unfurnished and positively strewn with boxes*

Continued from this thread.

*wakes late, blinking against the light streaming through the curtains, and pulls the blankets over his head*

*(the spring stretches long and lonely; in early February, Laertes meets a pleasant fellow of about his age who works as a clerk for the college, and they go out for dinner a few times before the experience grows awkward and too-intimate. he understands that he is craving intimacy, and that letters and calls simply do not suffice--in late March, ( Read more... )

*the sea breeze smells of salt and sulfur; the sand is a pure, smooth white strewn with stones. Laertes is ignoring this in favor of an exciting book of poetry that he's picked up in a used bookstore on the trip down to the coast*