01/30/09(Fri)11:48 No. 3564427 Not, however, in righteous joy or full understanding. In rising, he had dropped that cup of too hot, too sweet tea, and it had bounced off the uneven countertop in just the right way to spray the crotch of his jeans with boiling liquid. The scream was both due to that incredible physical pain, and a horrifying existential loss. The truth, which had so firmly fixed within his mind, drifted away, the anchor severed by the worldly distraction. He fell forward, sobbing, and attracting rather a few odd stares and a yell of "Man up, ya pussy!" from a burly scottish trucker walking across the cafe to the counter. He settle down, accepting a cloth from a waitress and dabbed pathetically at his now sore and damp crotch, accepting a new cup of tea, given without request, and rather brewed than the last cup. Sympathy perhaps? He sighed, reaching into a pocket and drawing out a twenty pound, which he placed on the table without thinking. It was only when he left the restaurant when he remembered he hadn't had any money earlier. He went to open his umbrella as he walked out into the rain, and just caught a thought that he could have sworn he'd forgotten his umbrella, or left it in the car... But he obviously hadn't, since it was here in his hand. And so, Joseph strode on, blissfully unaware, for now, that he was a latest in the line of the Anamnetics, the true philosophers, those who had seen the universal truth, and could reclaim it. Back in the cafe, the chef, who everyone thought was italian, but was actually of greek descent, found a number in an old notebook, a number he'd never thought he'd have to call. But his father had taught him well, and he knew the signs as well as anybody currently practicing the art. He tapped the keys, and spoke into the reciever "I have a message, for the Akademia..."