One of those sun-blessed Melbourne winter morns. I cancel on a hike. I feel Lumberjack Cafe fill up around me. In 1967, Glenn Seaborg, Nobel prize winner and head of the Atomic Energy Commission, muses in his diary that perhaps it’s time for them to “develop a national policy” on radioactive waste. I scribble across my document of notes: “Wow, in 67, FINALLY, Seaborg tries to centralize handling of spent nuclear fuel.” I’m there, back then. The cosmos beats urgently in my chest.