“I don’t know what’s going to happen to him.” Fred was speaking to a fellow instructor about a student who had missed a third of the semester’s classes. The two professors were standing on an outdoor railroad platform, waiting for a suburban train to take them safely home—that is: to the city twenty-two miles away. “He’s the worst student I’ve had in five or six years. I hear he’s terrible in all his classes, a real pain in the gazoo.” Fred spotted a lizard on the tracks. A train was chug-chug-chugging in the lizard’s direction. “If this student keeps on this path,” Fred continued, “his life, his fate will be a disaster.” As the train sped closer and closer to the lizard, the creature failed to run. Fred wasn’t sure if it were deaf or blind or stubborn or a daredevil wise guy. “Look!” he said to the other professor. Fred pointed toward the animal. “It’ll be cut in two or just decimated if it doesn’t move,” he said. Fred took a step toward the track. The other professor put a hand on Fred’s shoulder, halting him. “You weren’t really thinking of going down towards the rails, were you?” “No…. Yes…. I don’t know what I was planning to do,” Fred said, closing his eyes. “Shouldn’t we do something?” Fred asked, as his hands rounded into fists at his side. The other professor sighed a plaintive sigh. Then he said: “To move or to stay where it is: that’s a decision only it can make.”