28 October 2013

Peace After the Storm

The storm had passed. I observed the fallen leaves through the window while checking my email. "To reiterate, the class on class is cancelled," wrote Professor L. Having spent the last three days dissecting David Felman's chapter titled Class in Burke's History and Historians in the Twentieth Century, I was a bit disappointed. Fallen trees had evidently 
taken away my chance to discuss the works of Eric Hobsbawm and E.P. Thompson with peers.

Like Queen Anne realizing the potential for Ascot, I seized the opportunity to visit the British Museum on a week day. I had just been there the day before but the madness of the masses cut my visit short. Needless to say, I reinforced my policy of not going out on weekends.

Taking up my tote and trench, l hastened to the bus stop. Upon swiping my Oyster card, I reveled in the emptiness of the red bus. Seating myself by the wheelchair area I dreamt I would be able to claim just as much personal space in the museum. Greedily, I imagined myself in the presence of the Rosetta Stone sans tourists.

As I ascended the steps and passed between the Ionic columns, museum goers spilled out of the main entrance bordering Great Russell Street. Once inside I was relieved to not meet my death by crowd suffocation. Sitting on the floor unaccompanied in the King's Library
 was the pinnacle of my trip.
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