Numbers on the way to the studio. That 6 up top is so lovely it demands its own wall; the counters work way better than the ones on its bottom, about-to-fall-over-backwards-twin. I love how the E above is visually corrected to some extent; there is lot to feel good about on this middle-of-nowhere wall. A well-considered instance of hand-painted letters—where the artist gave enough figleaves about not just the nonexistent brief but the letters’ brief encounter with the nonexistent reader as well—is a joy to walk by and get stuck staring at as you wait for an ill-timed train to be signalled past. Those moments are pockets of joy in an otherwise mundane walk alongside Kozhikode’s version of rush-hour-traffic.

Not sure why the area code to the left (95) needed to be a sans-serif. I’m going to call -929 one of these slow moving days of unannounced power outages and figure out what happened.

The house next door—with the STD Booth and huge red letters bleeding allover the alcoves and fixtures that once held coin-operated red telephones—is being torn down.