there was a popular idealization, an icon, this owl. He was there, his backpack tossed over the back of the chair, his hands folded behind and buried in his head of auburn hair. There was a fashion now where the owl was popular, smeared across book bags, and t-shirts, icons, figures, somehow, always there. Big yellow eyes. Something to do with Harry Potter, maybe. Some virus that wraps around the masses' hearts and dives into their wallets.
So the ceiling, one of those foam board tile things with pinpricks. He looked up, and there it was, the owl. Some kind of pictorial creation. Flitting like a stop animated cartoon from slab to slab.
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