My creative writing professor, seemingly eons ago, proclaimed to our undergraduate class: “This is the greatest story ever written. Read it by next Tuesday.” That was it. 1967. Since then, I have returned to this story, more than any other. Read it. Read it aloud. Then just think. Just think the thoughts of another time; of plain-ended cigarette butts, cobblestone streets and pints of tepid Guinness. All of it. James Joyce has preserved his observations for all of us too.