All Doors Lead to Doors

My locker held a locket, and the locket held nothing at all, and upon tossing it to the side I discovered the girl who would ultimately be the martyr of our grade, a soft-spoken pixie of advanced classes and a mainstay on a yearbook masthead. We would go on one date and talk about cannonballs and the importance of grafitti before being split by the choices of PE teams. She reminded me of an obvious fact--this all felt very after-school special, and I informed her that my train of thought was dependent on prior experiences. And then everything ended; I had to gather all my toys, blocks, anger and socks together and try to craft something that would make the exhibit something new. My rent was due and outside there was tear gas and sunshine. All these random thoughts made me a millionaire a million times over and a martyr just like a girl in a hallway who becomes a hero after vaporizing in a car crash.

Photograph by Thomas Wheatley/"Louvre Tiles" Paris, France 8/04