Signum Saeculi nostri

Xbox 360 repairs: TV tech needed: Bless Israel

I was driving homeward from my last class of the week when I noticed this sign glowing over a shimmering parking lot along the Broad Street. I must have driven by it four times a day for weeks since my bicycle was down with a flat. It is a small wonder that it never entered my awareness as it blends so thoroughly with all the other post-industrial dross that litters the road from downtown to the ever increasingly decrepit looking mall. I was just thinking earlier in the day how many businesses are strewn along that road but never even touch my awareness, forming as they do one long smear of nearly moribund entrepreneurial endeavor; sadly, they are not really deserving of the term, their almost completely cinderblock lines uniform and their scattered, illegible posters providing such a motley sameness  that they no longer usually intrude on my perception. The only reason I ever saw this one particular sign was because I had been teaching my night class, and the sign was lit from within.

What an exact and pertinent summation of the Spirit with which I find myself increasingly at odds.

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