The Train Is Leaving the Station

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Abstract
It is 7 a.m. I am sitting in a heroically proportioned lecture hall trying to focus my eyes. On a table in front of me, slightly blurred, sits what was advertised as a continental breakfast: lukewarm coffee in a styrofoam cup and a Danish, which is “continental” only in the sense that it may be a leftover from D-day.I am recovering from a bad night on call. Several assaults by telephone designed to make me “aware” of a problem at a nursing home reduced the architecture of my sleep to rubble. REM-less, my mind wanders. I catch myself thinking . . .

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