It was today, still melancholic from the prior day’s letdown, that I truly reached the apex of my minimalistic period. Like a pint-size Frank Stella, I boiled the new computers that had just arrived down to their very essence, considering these mystical harbingers of the future from all angles and synthesizing them into their most basic form: a box.
“But Adam,” you retort, “surely you were just a six-year-old in a rush to turn in your journal?”
Nope. What I described is definitely what happened.