One day, near the end of last semester, I had a strange encounter on the bus home from the office. Three stops before mine, a passenger bumped into me on the way out. As he passed, I saw he was older, say about 30, skinny, disheveled, with a gray face that made him look thoroughly beaten. His receding hairline suggested that he was a fellow graduate student. We locked eyes for a moment. His held a wild intensity that was somewhat disturbing. And then he was gone.
When I got home, I found that a couple sheets of folded paper had been shoved into my jacket pocket. It was a manifesto of sorts, typewritten, anonymous, titled "The Machiavellian's Guide to Graduate Study: Things Grad-Student Kind Was Not Meant to Know." Perhaps the guy had recognized me from my IDS mug shot, or perhaps he was handing them to people at random. It might not have even come from him. But as soon as I read it, I knew it had to be published.