I was leaving work last night, and just as I was about to call Melissa, I saw a guy hanging out near the chemistry buildings. He was wearing a large cowboy hat. In Berkeley, a place renowned for people and things not-normal, this was not normal.

“Excuse me,” the guy called out in a distinctly Texan accent.

I walked toward him and could now see him better in the dim light. He had one of those shirts with the fringe on, and I thought he was also wearing one of those bolo tie.

He wasn’t just some student wearing a cowboy hat. He was a cowboy!

“Is the organic exam in Pimentel?” he asked.

“Sorry, I have no idea.” I replied.

“Oh, thanks anyway.” he said, and I started walking down the hill.

Kind fella, that cowboy. I wish he would have given a little more cowboy speak, like, “I’ll let ‘cha wrangle on home there, chuck-eater,” but alas…