by J. Budziszewski It was only a little past 11, and the Union was almost empty. Expecting a quiet lunch, I chose a table where I could look out the window at the Quad. No sooner had I set down my tray than a familiar face materialized in front of me. "Expecting someone, Prof?" It was Mark Manasseh. "Not at all. Pull up a chair." He sat down with a plate of something I didn't recognize. "What's that? Some kind of taco?" "Haven't you ever had a gyro?" he said. "It's like a Greek … [Read more...]