June 22, 2018

We were walking through the library that was currently displaying an assorted collection of art throughout its halls. The third floor featured a series of impressionistic oil paints that were supposedly from a local high school student. I stopped to look at each piece which seemed depict children curled up in the midst of swirling tendrils or faceless towering crowds. I felt a deep sense of loneliness rather than fear or anger emanating from the canvas.

On the next wall over was a series of pieces made from intentionally mismatching puzzle pieces. For one of the pieces, it looked like a puzzle was supposed to be pornographic in nature had been repurposed into a portrait.

“The library’s kinda useless huh?”, someone said. “Probably a lot of theft here too”.

I told that I was pretty sure the theft statistics were posted somewhere on the first floor. But it seemed like they already stopped listening. I picked up a Chinese language book with the intention to brush up on my writing skills over the next few weeks.