        The problem, he decided, was that he was trying to write something profound.  Something for posterity.  The kind of thing that would be quoted in textbooks forevermore, and he couldn’t come up with anything.  A five-year-old could do better.  Maybe it would be easiest to just write down things as they came to him, and sort it out all later.  He crumpled up the paper and tossed it into the wastebasket, then took another pull at his coffee.