I have a game that I play on campus; this is no game for two but a singular source of entertainment. I call it the B-Line game. In this game I must take the most direct route possible to my next class at whatever cost, be it over steaming vents, through crowds of people, in and out of buildings, across the muddied snow, or horizontally across stair cases and garden boxes. I know this sounds absurd but it is not only mildly entertaining to see the bizarre looks I get as I trudge through inches of snow or walk unflinching across a large metal grate that could seemingly collapse at any minute, but it is also very efficient, without fail getting me to class on time when I’m in a particular crunch (Which just so happens to be daily). You may be wondering what the alternative to this game is. I’ll tell you: aimless wandering. When I don’t give myself a direct route I find myself wandering, wandering, wandering, without a destination or stopping point; I consequently don’t seem to stop at all. One particular evening I found myself in a building vacant from my universe for none of my classes reside in its walls. I walked down concrete steps not entirely sure where I was going. I found myself stopping to read each and every post on the many bulletin boards lining the walls of the space. I wandered myself in circles and found my way into an auditorium class room. I gazed about the room and somehow stumbled over to the grand piano in the corner. Without hesitation I sat down and began to play the untrained instrument, and I do not play the piano. I remembered having learned the first few notes of Debussy’s Claire De Lune; I played them gently as students peaked in the doorway curious at the lovely sound wandering through such a bleak building. I played what I knew and fabricated the rest; occasionally creating discordant melodies. I wandered out as gently as I’d glided in and slipped through heavy doors up an alternative set of concrete steps. I wished they would wind and twirl, do anything but horizontally step. They seemed bored. I found myself on solid ground yet again and smiled as I thought of a man I had seen earlier, looking rough but sweetly telling his father he loved him. My steps suddenly felt rhythmic and beautiful as I slipped in and out of buildings, through lovely lands and somehow find myself at home, with collected fliers in hand and charming memories in mind. Life is beautiful if you simply allow it to be.