It's exciting to hear them talking about poetry and science and philosophy—about Shakespeare and Milton; Newton and Einstein and Freud;
about Plato and Hegel and Kant, and all the other names that echo like great church bells in my mind.
Sometimes I listen in on the conversations at the tables around me, and pretend I'm a college student, even though I'm a lot older than they are.
I carry books around, and I've started to smoke a pipe.
It's silly, but since I belong at the lab I feel as if I'm a part of the university. I hate to go home to that lonely room.
April 27 — I've made friends with some of the boys at the Campus Bowl.
They were arguing about whether or not Shakespeare really wrote Shakespeare's plays.
One of the boys—the fat one with the sweaty face— said that Marlowe wrote all of Shakespeare's plays.
But Lenny, the short kid with the dark glasses, didn't believe that business about Marlowe,
and he said that everyone knew that Sir Francis Bacon wrote the plays
because Shakespeare had never been to college and never had the education that shows up in those plays.
That's when the one with the freshman beanie said he had heard a couple of guys in the men's room
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