I was in Waterloo yesterday. I talked to the police and the provost and his friends. It's sick that I have to plan his funeral and that we have to clean this up. We were all completely taken by surprise. None of us were ready! Nothing seems right. I don't know what to do. I had so much of my life with him - I have more memories with him than anybody else. How am I supposed to get old when he never will?  

 His friend said that he spoke of me as a person who could do anything well. Even though once I told him about my thesis and he said, incredulously, 'they're letting you do that?' It's ironic, I always bragged about him as the one who made me look like the village idiot. I hope he didn't think that he was overspecializing or anything. I hope he didn't envy me much.