Franklin Scheub, a grizzled old man well-known throughout the environs of Harvard Square, reminisced as the Class of 2017 moved into their dorms and oriented themselves with college life.

“Oh, the memories I have,” said the senior, his beady black eyes peering out from his wrinkled visage and bushy white eyebrows as he raised a mug of black Au Bon Pain coffee with his trembling hands.  “So many things.  And this year, I remember all of it.”

As freshman became acquainted with their entryways and went through traditional orientation-week activities such as Community Conversations and the First Chance Dance, Mr. Scheub shook his head and scratched his wispy, bearded chin with his gnarled fingers. 

“This brings back the days—the joy, the sadness, the excitement, the depression, the love, the hate, the, the…” he trailed off in his quavering, old, remembering voice.  “In that building over there, there were some great things, some terrible things…but now that building is gone, razed to the ground.”

Scheub closed his wizened little eyelids in recollection as he walked over the grate next to Wigglesworth that led down to the passing subway train.  An exhalation—or was it a sigh?—exited his tobacco-stained teeth, as he was momentarily overwhelmed with all the reminiscences brought on by the Class of 2017. 

“Right here—right here was where it happened.  All of it,” he nodded, draped in mystery.  His eyes had seen many a thing, his ears had heard.  His nose had smelled, his mouth had tasted.

During the Freshman Intramural Field Day, he could be seen, leaning against a tree, nodding with experience and muttering, “that was some good shrimp”  over and over again, into eternity.