Back in the days of art professors with head scarves and James Nord and daytime sweatpants, I wrote a grant to rent a photobooth. My words were convincing enough, and my college handed over a fat check to fund the idea.

Months later the booth arrived on the night of the Freshman Formal, along with a Russian technician. He was dressed in a tuxedo minus the jacket and sat in a corner eating plates of cold finger food while I collected the developed photo strips. Hundreds of underaged kids in recycled prom outfits stumbled in and out of the booth expecting to collect their 5-by-2-inch prize, but I ushered them back to the dance floor and half-heartedly promised that I’d send copies to their HUB boxes. Luckily they were all too toasted to care.

And from this night, I made art.

via pbj4life