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Many of his Harvard friends accused him of being too provincial and suggested that he should get out and see the world. But at this Vag would laugh. "After Cambridge and Boston, what is there left to see?" he always replied. Oh, he had gone down to New Haven once or twice, but that was about the limit of his long-distance travelling...

Author: By Frederick W. Byron jr., | Title: Notes From Underground | 8/8/1957 | See Source »

...Vag's left, the banks of the Charles, bathed in the soft light of a July evening, were covered with an undulating mass of human bodies, and the romantic mixture of perfume and sweat nauseated him slightly. "Obscenity everywhere," thought Vag, and he slowly turned up Plympton Street, feeling a bit out of place in such a cruel setting...

Author: By Frederick W. Byron jr., | Title: Notes From Underground | 8/8/1957 | See Source »

...Vag parked his car and bounced into the Crimson building. "Home, sweet home," he chuckled as he settled himself down amidst the filth of several day's trash accumulation...

Author: By Frederick W. Byron jr., | Title: Notes From Underground | 8/8/1957 | See Source »

...Vag, seen that story in The New Yorker?" queried one of his friends with an evil grin...

Author: By Frederick W. Byron jr., | Title: Notes From Underground | 8/8/1957 | See Source »

...Vag was trapped. During the regular College year he read The New Yorker religiously, since it was the established fodder for many cocktail conversations, but during the summer he rarely ever picked it up. It rather bored him, acquiring a dull sameness after the first year's reading...

Author: By Frederick W. Byron jr., | Title: Notes From Underground | 8/8/1957 | See Source »

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