remember corrective fluorescent

He's begun studying a wall. Weird. Used to be he could count on it. Well not exactly it, the posters. They'd beckon him in a way. Not that any one member of Husker Dü ever looked enviably happy, but something about those three older guys' eyes, and the misery they housed, did this great, corrective thing to the world. It seemed roomier or something. More... uncharted. They knew a spot. Somewhere realistically bizarre, not just overly imagined on drugs then transcribed in corny outerspace colors, like on the posters that spaced out most kids he'd grown up with.