They found him curled up under his favorite hedge-row, clutching his frayed sweater - near steps to the library terrace - at the university - in that same idyllic - ivy-laden quad - where he was sure he had once worked - as professor? instructor? archivist? acrobat? - back in the days before his life unravelled - and brought him back to the Institute - a mere 15 minute drive away - for closer monitoring. (They plopped him down in the coffee lounge - his favorite spot - a popular wing of the Institute - where beverage and break snack were dispensed in exchange for tokens - and the chairs and couches were especially cozy. The Nurse, commenting gently on his frazzled state-of-mind and his unreliable memories - prodded him to sip a cup of dark roast, take a blue pill and wait for further instruction.) His "episodes" of derangement and disorientation had been scattered of late - and generally speaking he had not wandered off the premises - except to go in search of "greene...