Flew to LA for a DARPA PI meeting.
The first day, the weather was seemingly gorgeous, and everything looked entirely non-ominous to us (the Californian attendees knew better and explained to us what was likely to come). The second day – this. USC, where our meetings were held, is closed; the air smells of smoke and ash. A burned-around-the-edges sheet of paper glided past my hotel window, making me think of the book, the bookshelf, and the living room that sheet of paper was a part of, as early as a few hours before I saw it.
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