Untouched books crowded his shelves, shiny leather spines and faded first editions, meticulously dusted and never read.

Honorary degrees, organized by institute and year, lined the oak-paneled walls of his study, interspersed with framed photographs of acceptance speeches for his awards and achievements.

His basement held the final breath of graduate students, his attic cramped with ghost writers.

mlmm first line friday: august 29, 2020