Last night while I was watching the Mets, I started sketching my old high school's bell tower. My hand just started doing this involuntarily. Perhaps the late 60's geometric symmetry I'd recalled in this structure made my subconscious navigate to this as a worthwhile exercise.
I pulled out my old yearbook to compare the accuracy of my drawing to the structure itself. I then found myself pouring through these old pages, suddenly struck by the subtle, unidentifiable bleakness in these images. This was something that I'd never before noticed and it seemed to be magnified by the inane captions that accompanied the photographs.