Professor, in a Bowler, on a Bike
See Professor Budley. See Professor in a bowler. See Professor on a bike.
See Professor Budley, in a bowler, on a bike. Professor Budley pedals. He pedals his bike. Pedals it briskly. Professor is in a bind. He’s late for Biology class. His Biology class. His boring Biology class. His boring beginner’s Biology class.
Professor Budley, in a bowler, pedals his bike briskly, for he is in a bind, being late for his own boring beginner’s Biology class.
Professor’s students don’t mind. Professor is always late. Professor is always late for his own boring beginner’s Biology class. They can hear Professor’s bike barreling across the quad. Every time, at least ten minutes late, sometimes fifteen. They can hear the bike’s bearings boisterously complain as Budley briskly pedals. But still they wait, already bored.
Professor Budley pedals his bike briskly. His coattails fly. His silk ribbon tie flies. His bristly mustache flies. Time flies. Budley flies. Other students scatter from the quad as Budley flies. They can hear him approach, too. Every day, at least ten minutes late, sometimes fifteen. They flank the quad and watch Budley fly by. They watch his coattails fly by. They watch his silk ribbon tie fly by. They say, “Hi!” as his bristly mustache flies by. They say “Bye-bye!” as Budley flies by. And still time flies by. By and by.
The students are not getting any younger. (Nor, for that matter, is Budley.) The students wonder exactly how much more of this they must endure — as students will. Budley never wonders, for he is always quite busy being late, blindly but briskly pedaling his bike, in his bowler, to his boring beginner’s Biology class. And still time flies.
That is the way. The way of the world. Students who have experienced so little time count every wasted moment. They anxiously await the next new moment. Expecting new. And wild. And wondrous.
Budley knows better. Budley does not expect new, or wild, or wondrous. (Which is why he is sometimes so pleasantly surprised.) He knows about time. About how time flies. Flies by and by. That each next new moment is not too much different from the last new (now old) moment that went before. Sure, one moment you are on your bike, pedaling briskly, the next, you are arriving ten minutes late, sometimes fifteen, for your own boring beginner’s Biology class. But, other than that, not too much really changes.
What changes is you. Budley knows that. Budley tries to teach his students that. Pedal your bike, he tells them. Pedal it briskly. Fly down the path. With your coattails flying. With your silk ribbon tie flying. With your bristly mustache flying. Even if you are ten minutes late, sometimes fifteen. Barrel along on your bike and something will happen.
Budley enjoys it when something happens. In fact, Budley loves it when something happens. Though Budley teaches boring beginner’s Biology, Budley knows enough to let the world unfold and wash around him.
And so Budley pedals. Briskly. In a bowler, on a bike.
See Budley fly by.
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