The bricks underfoot crumbled with only slight pressure, most likely from the years of punishment that only New England weather can dish out. The red rays of the setting sun cut desperately through the thick clouds, and the wind took on a slight chill, the remnant of a coastal breeze.

It was the end of the day on top of the Biological Sciences Center.

The whole place looked like a concrete Stonehenge, with great monolithic blocks of concrete jutting out from a wasteland of gray, crumbling roof. One walkway survived, relatively unscathed, compared to the gravel-like terrain around it. Little weeds and other bits of plant matter had worked their way into the stonework.

Rising from all of this is the huge concrete teardrop that is the roof of a lecture hall, too high to climb onto, but one could probably see the whole campus from the tip.

The clouds were catching a purple tint as the sun continued its descent, still hidden from view, and slowly sinking down to the horizon.

A strange mix of smells from the many dining halls, in the middle of dinnertime, floated by, erasing all thoughts of appetite.

The time was 6:24, and the heat from the beautiful spring day was settling into a cool, comfortable night. -- Peter Larrivee