Funny how autostabilized video looks just like 3d. I am telling myself this is from the latest FPS and my mind believes me. Nice stencil buffers.

Looks like a good place to smoke ditch weed through a pop can.

They removed the desks, but none of the chairs. The chairs remain. Was the chair at 8:35 responsible?

I want to ask if this seems like an appropriate metaphor for the overall trajectory of your life, but I also don't know how to phrase that without sounding like a complete asshole.

Oh, well. Submit!

https://goo.gl/maps/NQaN1MVtVe82

They built this school in the 1920s, in the tiny rural Hamlet of Chenango Forks, because apparently back then, this was a center of civilization. Bythe 1960s, the center of civilzation shifted, but looking at it from Google earth, the community hasn't changed much. Every morning and every afternoon, I'd wait for a half hour at a school that was in my suburban neighborhood, the waystation between the bus that picked me up and dropped me off at home, and the bus to and from Hooterville.

Small Towns are fucking crazy. I've seen a person shoot up IV drugs once in my life, and it was in that crazy little town of Chenango Forks. Nearby was the Long Branch Saloon, a frequent stop for the local police.
It was where often was heard a discouraging word, and that discouraging word was "nigger". I went in there in 1980, ten years after I had left that school, and four years after high school. I was trying to start a glam rock band at the time, and I had long hair and an earring, and was dressed entirely in white. The redneck kid who in seventh grade held me down and spat in my face turned out to be the bartender, and he bought me a drink.

I remember that the the hallway next to the auditorium had framed 8x10 portraits of all the US presidents all in a row, from Washington to Johnson. I was in the sixth grade when Nixon was added. On election night, 2016, I imagined Donald Trump being added to that row of portraits, and the thought made me feel embarrassed.

There was a fire in the auditorium when I was in the fifth grade. I remember coming down the stairs with my class after the alarm, seeing the smoke, and realizing that it wasn't a fire drill. There was one kid in our school who was in a wheelchair, an older kid was pushing him frantically through the smoke. They both looked frightened. We all stood in the parking lot, and watched as the trucks arrived.

In the eighties, they renamed the old building the Charlotte Kenyon Elementary school, after a women who had worked there as a teacher her whole life. I remember Miss Kenyon. By the late sixties, she was a mean old lady, constantly yelling at kids in the hallway in a croaking old lady voice. Cankles that went on forever.