So I pull up to a stop light and sitting next to and slightly ahead of me is a Chevy Caprice Classic. It's "cream," I believe the color is called, and has a Stanford sticker on the back window. There's a box of Kleenex on the rear shelf.

And in fact the only thing at all out of the ordinary about this car is that it's filled with four Tibetan monks, all with shaved heads and dressed in bright orange robes.

I waved, but they didn't see me.