Thursday. 9:42 a.m. Ken Mannion’s college campus. 83 degrees. Sun blazing. Thin undergrad in a periwinkle blue mini sundress, light brown ponytail with a twist over her shoulder, walking up toward the student union under a battered black umbrella that rides on her shoulder like a parasol in a painting by Winslow Homer. Not to far behind her a young male professor with brown beard and close cropped hair, wearing sunglasses and lighting up a cigarette. Shakes match to extinguish it. Exhales a long white cloud of smoke.