The world is as full of coincidence as 253 . Standing amid the groundlings in front of the stage was a tall, grey, benignly smiling man. I saw him hitch his shoulder in a way that meant his left arm was withered.
I recognized him. This was the Englishman who taught me Shakespeare at UCLA. He was young then and for North Americans a baffling mix of what would have seemed shyness to Americans and a kind of wild Englishness. On the day of a major earthquake, he showed in class wearing flourescent disaster gear and a construction worker's orange hard hat.
I didn't remember his name. Later, I tried to find him but he was lost among the crowd streaming out through the doors like commuters from a a train.
Just a splinter of the past. I wonder if his last name was Thatcher?