Maybe it's just me, but this place strikes me as more creepy than fun. That dark tunnel of an entrance, for one thing. And those claws of dead branches, looking like fingers trying to pluck the "L" from the sign. Oh, and the clown...
One of my earliest memories is of my parents staying up late to process slides in the kitchen. I can still remember the first photograph I took - of a rock, with a mountain in the background. In college, I was almost positive I was going to be the next Ansel Adams.
All of which has led me here.
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