A rug elegy, belonging to the High School Archeologist
series, this piece contains stolen undergarments, neon-nostalgic
high school photos, and perishable lemons.
How swiftly time and youth ebb away, and how soon a lovely
lemon can turn to bitter juice. At the age of 16, Joy would
often tie a scarf around my neck like a bridle, and ride me down
the hallways like an obedient and softened horse. Her high hair
flaunted the airs of all humanity in 1986. Now, decades later,
she's popcorn broken.
