I walk into the classroom exactly one minute after lecture was supposed to begin.
They know, because it is the end of the semester, that I am always early. I have told them to worry about me if I'm late.
As I turn the overhead on, I can't lift my chin to acknowledge them.
That day, I had no "guess what" story, no quizzes to hand back.
Just a single sheet of overhead projector transparency onto which I'd xeroxed both Marvin's obituary and my letter to Marvin.
I flicked on the light, adjusted the focus, and stepped back, arms crossed, leaning on the wall.
Within about two minutes