Alright. Okay. I can do this. I’ll be strong.
My name is Todd Olson and this is my story.
It was near midnight, and it was raining again. The Healy tower bells tolled loudly, with echoes creeping in from every corner. I was on my nightly shuffle across red square in route to get some Epicurean, when my imagination, and my gaze, wandered to the old cemetery kind-of-behind Arrupe. Lightning illuminated the headstones and ghastly apparitions, those devilish evening sprites, danced and taunted before my very eyes.
My feet barely touched the ground as I raced to the safety of my office – where I have been securely stationed ever since. So far, I have rubbed garlic on any exposed flesh, littered the floor with silver spoons, and have recited three Hail Mary’s. I hope my message reaches DeGioia before it’s too late. We must install some kind of metaphysical defense between campus and that accursed cemetery people always forget about. I will speak with maintenance.
Or we could just make it more like that nice Jesuit one,