Wyatt Conlon

Contents
/OddFellows
/Amboy
/Paper Planes
/Unit 120
/On the Yama
/Movie Social
/TV Social
/Randoms


Current Reading 
“...The furniture was faded, the tables wobbled, the locks were useless. The floorboards were scuffed, the light bulbs dim; the washstand, with ill-fitting plug, couldn't hold water. A fat maid walked the halls with elephant strides, ponderously, ominously coughing. And the sadeyed, middle-aged owner, stationed permanently behind the front desk, had two fingers missing. The kind of a guy, by the looks of him, for whom nothing goes right. A veritable specimen of the type—dredged up from an overnight soak in thin blue ink, soul stained by misfortune, failure, defeat. You'd want to put him in a glass case and cart him to your science class: Homo nihilsuccessus. Almost anyone who saw the guy would, to a greater or lesser degree, feel their spirits dampen. Not a few would be angered (some folks get upset seeing miserable examples of humanity). So who would stay in that hotel?...“
-Dance, Dance, Dance by Haruki Murakami

 
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Paper Planes

Made from the highest flying paper

Unit 120

Kitchen Canvas