One brought hunting dogs into faculty offices. The other wore camouflage indoors.
My Whitmore, he said...
Catherine felt something between secondhand embarrassment and professional horror settle in her spine. She inhaled once, deeply, and discarded the thought. Whatever they were doing in there…footnotes, metaphors, unspeakable theoretical frameworks, or… something else… was no longer her concern.
She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving behind two humanities professors: one who had mistaken interior design for personal identity, and one who very clearly belonged to no one at all.
It was, she reflected, an excellent reminder of why she did not suffer humanities nerds. They were more unpredictable than brainwaves and considerably more convinced of their own brilliance, an enthusiasm rarely matched by results.
***
"Sebastian."
