“Would you like a new copy of the Testament?” the man in the gray tweed jacket asks me.

I recognize him instantly: this is the man who in my sophomore year of high school chased me down the sidewalk in front of the administration building, waving a small green book. He looks a little more rickety now, momentarily risen from his folding chair.

“No thank you!” I snap, shifting the laptop case on my shoulder.

He is at the bottom of the stairs. At the top, but seconds ago, I was asked the same thing by two men in navy blue suit jackets. Three blocks away, upon leaving the parking lot, I said “nuh uh” to two men with a card table.

I am now at the point of “no’s” and “thank you’s” and shifting shifting shifting.

The socio major in me calls. Question – prod and poke his ideals. Raise his hopes and dash them with the line “Thanks, you just gave me the example of ‘weapons of the weak’ that I’ve been needing.”

But I’ve heard his spiel before, and I have a thesis about Egyptian coffins to write.