| By Natalie Beck
I have known David Bolus for a good while now, well enough at least, to remain unfazed by the fact that he is cooking couscous in a little plastic container when I enter his dorm’s kitchen. Couscous of all things. I watch quietly and let the aura of all things foreign swirl about me in the vapors.
He politely offers me some as he straightens his dark-rimmed glasses, their frames shadowing his weary eyes and fatigued face. When I decline, he beckons me back to his own room with a silent hand and inviting smile; his time is limited tonight.
Walking into David’s room is like falling inside his head and strolling among the deeper crevices of his infinite brain. His bed is completely disheveled in an apparent attempt to rebel against the concept of sheets. His clothes lay |
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mangled about the floor as if he forgot how to properly use his dresser. His books lay scattered about, open to random pages, setting the mood of a scene straight out of “A Beautiful Mind.”
How appropriate. That movie seems to sum up David exactly … minus the fact that he is not suffering from schizophrenia, nor is he currently being employed to crack Soviet codes. But you understand what I’m saying. MORE >>
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