While meandering down memory lane last night, I uncovered this shot of my closet doors, wallpapered with Circus and Metal Edge magazines.  ROCK ON—then cuddle with Garfield, a Cabbage Patch preemie and Fleagle the Beagle, if time permits.

Reassurance:  stepping into an elevator, watching the steel doors clamp shut, and as you ascend, glimpsing a sign: “In case of fire, use stairs.”  Above it, a picture of a stick figure running down a flaming staircase.

By the second floor, I found myself imagining my last resentful thought if I were to ever find myself trapped in a burning elevator:  Why the hell didn’t they hang that sign OUTSIDE the door?

I’m wondering if Walt Disney felt the same way when cigarettes came out with warning labels in 1966.