I dress to the sounds of Schoenberg. I pick a crisp white shirt. It is cold against my skin. My black suit is the same as always, baggy in the pants. When I am finished dressing I begin to pack-three white sheets of big paper, and a charcoal stick-into a poster tube.
The charcoal leaves the tips of my fingers black, reminding me to bring some paper towels along. I fit this into the tube as well.