I was among several kids in the art class; we were all the same age, more or less, somewhere in the hazy place between 14 and 25. The teacher was gone, and the room needed a decade of spring cleanings. The walls were dappled with airplane cement and rain damage, a heavy gray suggesting the color, thickness, and structural integrity of a putty ( Read more... )

Friday morning I dreamed I was in a basement-level bookstore. I had two books in hand that I was going to sell or trade, and I was perusing the shelves. (All the books were face out, instead of spine out like normal bookstores.) I saw a few quiet men in their late 40s looking at model trains, which were also sold in the shop ( Read more... )