13 years in New York ended with the reinstallation of the shitty entryway booblight my apartment came with.
Strange to see a place I’ve slept for six of those years quickly revert to a generic, meaningless shell. It’s comforting, in a way, to see my material impact on the world efficiently erased: I couldn’t have done too much damage.
I truly loathe this fixture, and yet have thought of it frequently.