Picture this: you are studying dutifully in the library. A neatly stapled article about Foucault is in one hand, a sharpened no. 2 Ticonderoga pencil in the other. You underline the word “punish” in the reading and squint your eyes. How long have you been here? You glance down at your hands, only to find your fingernails yellow and curling, obscenely long. You scrabble at your face with desperation and feel that your skin, once taut as a djembe, has sagged and deflated. The pages in your decrepit claw disintegrate into wood pulp. Your eyes, nearly blinded with cataracts, look up to the library around you, and find only a sea of purple, a monsoon of violets and lilacs merging together in a repugnant mélange of school spirit. You let out a primal shriek of despair. They won. They finally won.
These are the most excessively purple accent walls in Olin-Chalmers.
- This wall.
2. This other wall.
3. This third wall.
4. Yet another wall!!!
5. This is a wall that is purple. Duh!!