Murphy sat on a park, drinking from a flask of water. He nervously adjusted his coat, looking around as if he was waiting for something. Which was, of course, what he was doing, but even to him, it was unclear what he was waiting for. There were probably better things for him to be doing - the professor had sent him out to grab some prints, the custodian was looking to schedule a visit soon, and Vincent had asked him to pick up some donuts on the way back. But Murphy... had a feeling. 

Oh how he hated the phrase, so frustratingly vague and undescriptive. But even if it dealt in vagueries, the Moth God had been right every time. He didn't know what would happen, or when it would happen, or precisely where it would happen. For someone like him who liked to be right on time, it was a hairpulling experience. But something always would happen, some disaster would strike just when Murphy convinced himself he had imagined the impulse, and he would throw himself into the fray once again. Whatever occurred in the park today, the Magnificent Moth Man would be there to help. It was what he had to do, and the occassional Tribune headline focused on him didn't hurt either.

Murphy checked his watch impatiently. He hoped that whatever it was that happened, it would happen soon. He hoped that he could at least get to the print shop before it closed.