Dr. Freddie Drummond walked out of the lecture hall.

The students ambled past.

Careful not to make eye contact with their sociology professor.

Dr. Drummond was fine with that.

He preferred it.

He never knew quite what to say after the nominal anticipated social grading was over.

And then you passed the same person the second time that day.

Or the third or the fourth.

The plate had not a smirk, a fro, brow, indicating that you were deep in thought on a problem.

In his 27 years on this earth, Drummond hadn't quite worked it out yet.

Which he found troubling.

He was a sociology professor.

Dr. Wayne said to him with a smile.

He hated that nickname.

It was better than icebox and college, but only marginally.

I finally got around reading the unskilled laborer.

Skimming it.

I read a lot for work.

It was in the papers though.

I heard the president of the railway systems bought a pallet of them to hand out to his

employees.

50,000.

...