One night I had a dream:
Devlin was at a nearby bistro enjoying a glass of wine and the admiration of a table full of other students. He saw me through the music and the haze of those who pretend to smoke cigarettes.
“Grimsley!” He gestured. “Just the man! Get over here.”
I had to admit it was something of a thrill to be publicly recognized by the coolest guy in seminary. I pulled over a chair and wedged into the crowd.
“We were just discussing our take-over of the school,” said Lucent. I laughed, but the rest of them turned their attention back to Devlin. “No, really: those stodgy fools have no business running the place. Even when they’re correct, they’re hopelessly lost in applying the answers. They’re driving students away and holding the rest of us back. Are you in?”
“This seems rather sudden, eh?” I tried to ask.
“Nothing sudden about that lame seminary. They’ve been screwing people up for decades.” No one interrupted Devlin. They focused on him with devotion usually reserved for rock stars or saints. He loved it. He didn’t need my buy-in: “I can see you’re holding back. No matter–I may still let you attend after I’m in charge.”
The next morning it was Devlin who caught up with me on the frosty quad.
