don't step on anything," a man finished the sentence as a tiny crowd hurried in and things were stepped on.
"I'll just talk on. Probably everyone knows I lost my job at the University. But I'm keeping up with my lecturing," he lifted a foot in a dress shoe from a paper mache rider on a horse. He smoothed both rider and horse as he told, "You may not know that the University itself is no more." Someone gasped. A woman came from a three foot deep kitchenette area. "Oh dear," at the sight of eight or nine people. She made way carefully around the perimeter of the room. Snagged a pile of books and magazines and as timing would have it, a rocket flew overhead, she jumped, the books crashed down, and the rocket exploded.
The professor sighed. But knelt to help re-gather the books. A young woman pushed her way through semi-frozen people and also helped. She handed the books one by one into the woman in the kitchenette. Then asked, "Sir, what's with all the strings?"
Sprawling the floor was a patchwork of string and yarn and rags. "My dear," the professor said, "I'm so glad you've asked." The man took in the creation by looking down at it from his height. His eyes misted, he rang his hands gently, caressed a side of his face, and almost started talking a few times before more seeing what's inside of the design. At long last he spoke. "Waves."
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