I'm writing a paper on Proust, in a computer lab. Deja vu. Except this time around, none of my classmates are encouraging me to join their conservative journals, and the computer lab is, well, it's no USITE. Sure, it's within walking distance of every pair of shoes a person could ever want to buy, and sure, I have more post-paper beverage options (it's looking like a mocha) than was ever the case in Chicago. But I miss the loud hum of Harper, the sterility of Crerar.