So I stopped in after work for a beer at the place where our alumni group watch football games.  It's in downtown, in fact a few blocks away from where I'm working right now, so it was convenient, plus I should touch base with the guy to make sure everything is on track for the fall, plus I wanted to let him know I'm not just some guy who'll use him during football season, plus the men's soccer team was playing Ghana.

He wasn't there.  No matter; it was happy hour and Team USA was winning.  My waitress recognized me, which is good so that she hopefully will tell her boss, the general manager, the guy I came in to see, that I was there.

When she took my beer order I noticed a tattoo of a chemical formula on her right forearm.  Now I have seen some crazy tats; I still am very intrigued by women who have lines upon lines of words inked on their bodies.  I have to read them, the better for me to linger over their beautiful bodies!  But a chemical formula, something I haven't seen since I took organic chemistry in high school and college?

I had to ask her when she came around to check on me: What is that a symbol of?

"Serotonin."

"Why?"

"Depression."

"Oh."

Every picture tells a story, don't it?  There is something admirable about branding yourself with something so personal, especially if it's an ongoing struggle.

Something I noticed, that's all.